Coup d'etat
by SaveItSilly
Summary: In one fell swoop the United States is thrown into a crisis. The T-Virus is released in the heart of Washington DC, the fate of the city and its survivors left in the hand of an organization whose motto is 'No One is Safe, Nothing is Sacred'. BSAA operatives Redfield and Valentine think venturing into the city and finding the culprits is just another day in the job. They're wrong.
1. Chapter 1: Release

**I don't own Resident Evil or [PROTOTYPE] and make no money from this fanfiction**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Release**

* * *

**Gentek Research Facility. 17/5/10**

Chris Redfield stood with his back to a wall – metaphorically and literally. He was panting in exhaustion. Perspiration soaked his shirt, fatigue gripped his muscles and wore him down, and blood oozed out of a roughly bandaged wound. He would be dead by now, were it not for the monster having decided to toy with him, rather than kill him outright. Chris cursed fate for providing him with yet another monologue spewing, arrogant, super-powered villain after finally destroying Albert Wesker. That fight alone had only barely allowed Chris to survive – if it wasn't for Sheva, Jill and Josh supporting him, Chris was certain that he'd be dead. And now he had absolutely no one to help him, no helicopter to provide an escape, no rocket launchers, absolutely _nothing _to fight this…thing. Easily the most powerful mutated freak Chris had ever faced, he was certain that he couldn't win. Not this time.

Shooting his Samurai Edge was more of a formality now – his opponent had survived far worse – and even the miraculous headshots that had taken out so many enemies in the decade that he had fought against Bio-Organic Weapons (BOW's) failed to even faze this creature. As the booming shots changed to rapid clicks Chris mentally compared this monster to a physical manifestation of death. Dropping the handgun and drawing himself upright, Chris stared daggers at death.

"Sorry about this, Redfield. You don't deserve to die, and that's more than I can say about a lot of people." Death paused, about to say something else. Seeming to think better of it, the monster continued forwards. Chris thought back to the thousand and one times he'd somehow managed to evade the end. It seemed that the end had finally caught up with him…

* * *

**Washington DC. 10/5/10**

The crowded café seemed like the worst place in the world for the business of weapons dealing. With dozens of witnesses, complete lack of privacy and every possibility of being discovered, one might wonder why Lugosi had chosen it as her place of transaction. Of course, if one were to ask her then they'd be called an, "Amateurish sod". Lugosi had been in the trade of black market dealings since turning rogue from the British Branch of the BSAA and knew every trick in the bookcrw of illegitimate dealing. The busy café made an ideal spot for a less than legal transaction; the public location being the last place anyone would look, the usual legitimate business dealings providing a smoke screen, and if things went wrong then the customers and staff provided hostages. With all this in mind, Lugosi sat confidently in an inconspicuous corner, setting a steel briefcase against the table leg. She was a beautiful woman, with long, flowing blonde hair, sharp brown eyes that shone with intelligence, and a toned body.

Awaiting her client, she gestured to a waiter with a regal flourish. Ordering a Black Tea in a clipped, British accent, she looked down at the briefcase. The unremarkable case contained a deadly weapon, a biological weapon; it was a modern Pandora's Box. Since her time in the BSAA, she had taken down many bioterrorists, biological weapons dealers and the like. It was ironic that now she was one. The waiter returned with the tea, he was young, barely out of high school with a kind smile and a naïve look in his wide eyes. As Lugosi thanked him, she reflected that if things went south then she wouldn't regret killing him. Sipping on the crisp, hot tea, she sighed and closed her eyes as the tantalizing aroma drifted up. Without opening her eyes she said, "Murdock, you're late."

"Always catch me, don't you Bella?" came a deep voice with a Southern accent. Opening her eyes, Bella Lugosi saw a large, broad shouldered man, wearing an expensive dark suit that in Washington acted as camouflage. He was an average businessman, except that his business involved murder. From what she'd heard, business was good.

"You may be able to garrote the unsuspecting senator, Murdock. But you can't sneak up on me," she joked lightly, having learnt long ago that clients paid more if they liked the salesperson. "Now, we've been in business for a while, but this order is far bigger than any that you've asked for. What could you possibly wish to do with this? After all, an M16 or a couple of Cerberuses is one thing, but a sample of the Tyrant Virus? What's going on?"

"Please, Bella. Whatever happened to your policy of 'sell first, never ask questions ever?'" Murdock replied evenly.

"Very well, I was simply curious." Bella said. "Now, as for the price; a vial of the Tyrant Virus, capable of the degenerating an entire city into an anarchy of undead monsters and whatnot, being sold in Washington DC of all places…hmmm, I'd say it would be worth billions. But for you, a hundred million might be more reasonable. I mean, a sample of the T-Virus whilst we're in Washington of all places? Whoever's hired you can certainly afford that." She knew that haggling would reduce the price and had deliberately set the bar high. Writing something onto a tissue, she turned the blank side up and slid it across the table. Her client didn't turn it over.

Murdock nearly choked. "A hundred million? That's insane. I say; twenty -"

"You must have gone round the bend! This is worth ninety million!"

"Twenty five."

"Eighty."

"Forty!" Murdock growled.

"Fifty, take it or-"the weapons dealer began.

"Deal." The hit man said reluctantly. Bella smiled as Murdock turned over the tissue to see a number written in an elegant style. It read, "_Fifty Million._" Murdock exhaled, annoyed.

"I don't know how you always do that, Lugosi." He said, slightly miffed that she'd correctly foretold the final price once again. "Well, I guess you get another ten thousand for that."

Bella smirked mischievously. "As I told you when we made that wager, I never lose."

* * *

A row of five dark cars pulled to a sharp stop in front of the café. Immediately, armed men stormed out, wearing urban camouflage body armor, black balaclavas and wielding compact SIG 556 Carbines. Making their way to the doors, the men lined up guns up and at the ready. At a subtle hand motion from the leader the door was thrown open and one by one the soldiers streamed in, each covering the other and spreading out to neutralize any possible threat. Customers screamed, illogically believing a robbery was taking place – as if a café raid required a team of a dozen men with military-grade weapons and body armor. As the shouting quieted down and the soldiers restored order, the leader made a beeline for Lugosi's table. Covered by two of his men, the leader reached a hand beneath his balaclava and tugged it off to reveal a handsome, rugged face with dark hair and matching eyes. "Isabella Talbot," he stated accusingly, not taking notice of her companion who was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible…and failing.

Bella looked surprised, her cool eyes narrowed as she tried to remember the familiar visage. "Chris? My, my, what are the odds of running into each other? Isn't Washington such a small place? Oh, and it's just Bella now. Bella Lugosi."

Chris was all business. "Talbot, you're under arrest for more offences than I can list."

Raising a curved eyebrow, Bella smirked at Chris. "Oh, surely what's in the past should stay there? Whatever happened to 'Live and let live'. Besides, surely you can let me off for old time's sake."

"That's out of the question, Talbot. Corporal Parker, arrest her." Chris ordered, glaring out of the corner of his eye as Isabella's client tried to sidle out of his seat at the word 'arrest'. The client froze in place and settled back down. One of the soldiers stepped forward with steel cuffs in hand. Bella smiled maliciously.

"Come now, Chris. I remember a time when you used cuffs for quite a different reason. But, I'm afraid a penitentiary isn't high on my list of places-to-see…" she reached a hand into her pocket and clutched a hidden remote. Pressing one of the buttons as Parker reached for her wrists, Bella took a deep breath, tensing up as she waited for…**BANG!** An explosion sounded as bricks rained in from one of the walls. Forcing its way through the gap, a truck backed in – running over a couple of elderly patrons as it did so – and halting at the centre of the café. A tense second passed as everyone was frozen in shock, and then the door began to slide up automatically. Chris was yelling for the men to prepare to fire, his years of experience warning him that whatever was in the truck wasn't good.

A deep growl emanated from the darkness of the massive box. One of the soldiers shook himself out of his reverie and raised his weapon, just as a red blur flew from the box to slam into the man's chest, knocking him down. The man, an unfortunate Private whose name was Stuart, screamed as claws the size of machetes sank into his torso and tore the skin and muscles, crushed the bones and ripped the organs out. Bullets flew from the surrounding soldiers and the gun in Stuart's hand, while the beast above him roared in a combination of pain and triumph. The last thing that Stuart saw was an eyeless, skinless head, a massive, exposed brain, and a set of vicious jaws from which a long, barbed tongue flailed. That was when the monster shot its tongue into Stuart's forehead like a harpoon, ending his yells for help. The whole process had taken only five seconds, and during that short amount of time five more of the beasts had leapt from the container to engage the rest of the solders. Chris shouted orders as his men teetered on the edge of panic, monsters roared over the turmoil as civilians broke and ran for the exits – falling to stray bullets, flailing claws and each other as they struggled to escape.

"Cover each other! Engage the closest target! Aim for the head!" Chris yelled at the top of his lungs. As he gave orders he fired with a large handgun, squeezing off accurate precise shots that blasted the heads of the monsters that tried to kill him. As he went for a third its tongue lanced out and knocked the gun out of his hands. Sidestepping to avoid a gross decapitation, Chris reached behind his shoulder and drew a massive kukri knife out, and then whirled it down to slice straight through the tongue. Ignoring the furious roar, Chris dove for the fallen firearm, sliding along the ground, grabbing the pistol and twirling around just as the mutant soared for him, teeth bared and claws ready. The gunshot boomed like a cannon as the point blank shot blasted a hole into the beast's forehead and sending out clumps of brain matter and blood out the back. He had faced these beasts before, recognizing the grotesquely enlarged brain, large claws, quadruped stance, skinless body and the elongated tongue. It was the long, barbed tongue that was its namesake: a Licker. A product of extended infection of the T-Virus, the Lickers had once been human. Chris could only speculate on where Isabella had gotten the subjects. _'Speaking of the backstabbing, murdering, treasonous female dog…' _Chris turned to find her. Amid all the confusion, with Lickers mauling and spearing before succumbing to a hail of bullets from the rallying soldiers, with the last of the civilians pushing through the doors or simply smashing through the windows, and with the sheer anarchy that ruled the unassuming café in Washington, Isabella and her client had vanished. As the last of the Licker's howled, Chris turned to see dozens of wounded and dead civilians – a young waiter looking like he'd barely left school, pain clouding his eyes and clouding his features while a hand clutched his stomach where blood flowed and organs threatened to spill from a ragged tear. His men had suffered two casualties and three major injuries. Kneeling by the unfortunate waiter, Chris pulled out an intercom, reported the mission status and requested help for all the victims. Once done, Chris returned his attentions to the wounded. Encouraging and comforting all of them, when he had a spare moment Chris thought of Isabella and cursed under his breath. "That bitch!"

* * *

"A total failure – thirteen deaths, two people stuck in hospital wards and being tested for possible T-Virus infections, $150, 000 dollars worth of damages, fifty witnesses and absolutely no arrests!"

Chris struggled to keep his emotions in check as he was scolded like a child. It was infuriating and embarrassing to be treated like rookie when he'd had years of experience in combat. The man before him took a moment to pause in his tirade. Chris stood rigidly at attention, knowing better than to object. The man who reprimanded Chris was a Colonel named Sullivan, though he didn't wear a regular uniform – opting instead to don a dark tactical combat harness over a matching jumpsuit. Armed with a holstered Beretta 92FS handgun – Chris idly noted that it was the same model as his customized Samurai Edge, a handgun that he had carried around since his days in STARS – and a sheathed combat knife, Sullivan didn't strike Chris as a regular Colonel. Part of a pitch black shadowy unit that's name Chris wasn't authorized to know, Colonel Sullivan had all the authority in the world, authority that apparently overstepped that of the United Nations.

Within the BSAA Chris was respected for his countless success as well as for his status as one of the original eleven members of the association, and though he loathed admitting it Chris had gotten hooked on that status – he hated being talked down to. Even in his days in the Air Force he'd had a problem with authority – that was one of the things that had prompted him to join the STARS team in the first place.

"So not only has this mission been a complete and utter failure, but now an international, biological weapons dealer is now on the loose in the capital city of America! You couldn't even capture her client – a man who, by the way, is wanted for mass murder and attempts of genocide on behalf of who knows which of the innumerable countries that want America flatling. Now, I've pulled your file, Redfield. After your little victory against Umbrella and the incident in Africa last year I would have thought that you wouldn't have botched this op too badly. Apparently I was wrong. Not only have _you _failed, but so has the BSAA. Hold on, I apologise; the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance isn't a _failure..._it is a joke."

Finally, Chris could stand it no longer. He could handle being insulted, but he wouldn't let his organization be offended. "Sir," he burst out. "What were we supposed to do when _six _Lickers attacked and civilians stormed around? It was chaos; of course Isabella managed to escape in the confusion."

Colonel Sullivan froze, and one eyebrow slowly rose. Chris had a mild suspicion that no one had ever dared to interrupt him before. A man in his fifties, Sullivan had a slightly wrinkled face bearing scars from his years of combat. He had a silvery mess of hair cut past regulations, and ragged stubble grew on his cheeks. Most noticeable were the Colonel's eyes. An extraordinarily luminous blue, they gleamed with intelligence and ruthlessness.

"According to your report, the target used a remote to signal the truck to enter the building – after minutes of _conversation _with you. Tell me, Redfield, why did you give her the chance to do this? Absolutely typical of the BSAA strategy; engage target in small talk, make vague threats of arrest, screw the pooch, suffer casualties and lose the target." Sullivan growled. "Just a simple question, Redfield, why didn't you go in there, then shoot her in the arm and haul her ass out? Failing that, you could have used a nifty little device called a taser. Unless you were thinking of her as _Isabella_, rather than as a target."

Chris frowned. "Sir, regulations prohibit the use of unnecessary violence-"

"Regulations! Redfield, the pencil pushers that write regulations aren't the ones on the field. One of the…'mottos'…of my organization is 'When in doubt, shoot to kill'. Next time you go onto the field, remember that. Then maybe you won't have the blood of thirteen people on your hands. Now get out." Sullivan turned away, as if the mere sight of Chris infuriated him. Chris – who felt the same way about the Colonel – responded in kind, turning on his heel and marching out of the room. Passing two similarly clad soldiers standing guard outside the office – only these ones were equipped with gas masks and blue goggles to obscure their faces, and clutched large assault rifles in their hands – Chris wondered what morally grey unit had taken over this case…and just what this case would escalate to.

* * *

Elsewhere in the city, Murdock clutched a steel briefcase. Despite the fifty million dollar loss, he was in a good mood. The organization that had purchased his services had done so for a _very _hefty price. And the job wouldn't be difficult at all. Striding through the streets as the sun began its descent; Murdock saw the distinctive shape of the White House against the beautiful red sunset. Reflecting that if this was a movie it would have been raining, Murdock laughed heartily at the lack of pathetic fallacy, causing some of the people around him to glance inquisitively. Ignoring them, Murdock arrived at the gates of the White House. Clipping on a badge that allowed the hit man to masquerade as a food inspector, Murdock easily bypassed the security detail. The overweight guard gave the ID a cursory glance before waving Murdock through. Even if he inspected the briefcase, all he'd find would be a bunch of folders.

Marching through the corridors of the White House, Murdock maintained a cool façade that no one questioned. He felt a shred of regret, the presidential building had been rebuilt impeccably since the Russian attack. The décor was so soothing, lush carpets and curtains, and oaken furniture. A shame, Murdock thought, that the place would soon be stained by blood and guts.

Making his way to the kitchens, Murdock pretended to inspect the cooking dishes whilst the chef's nervously watched him for signs of displeasure. The pretend inspector nodded slightly, the cooks let out a sigh of relief and went back to work – it was nerve racking to prepare meals for the leaders of the country. When he was certain that no one was watching him, Murdock retreated to a quiet corner, opened the briefcase and removed the false bottom. There, secured in a cushioned interior was a small vial with green contents. Unscrewing the top, Murdock walked around the kitchen again, pouring a small portion of the green liquid into every dish that was unattended. Speaking to the head chef and telling him that everything was satisfactory, Murdock left the bustling kitchen. Within fifteen minutes he would leave the White House. Within an hour he would leave the city. Within two days he would be on a newly purchased yacht in the Caribbean, sipping champagne and congratulating himself for having an early retirement. Within two days he would also be dead.


	2. Chapter 2: Containment

**I do not own [PROTOTYPE] or Resident Evil and I make no money from this fanfiction.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Containment**

* * *

**Gentek Research Facility. 17/5/10 **

Chris ducked the swiping claw, rolling in a bid for some room. Over his head, he heard the very air being sliced by four lethal talons. As soon as he got to his feet he kept moving forward at a sprint. He heard heavy footfalls behind him, as the monster quickly made ground. Chris tried to ignore the impending death, and focused on reaching the console twenty feet ahead. The cavernous room he was in resembled a massive hanger, though curiously it was empty. That is, if you didn't count the dozens of cages that made up the walls. Made of reinforced titanium and clean shatter-proof glass, these cells contained mutated freaks created from every virus that a mad scientist could dream of. And the button to release them was already prepped, it only required pushing. He heard a swooshing of air behind him, and instinctively dived out of the way, rolling once again to keep his momentum. At his side, a monstrously long, thick rope of dark bio-matter twisting through the air where he'd been standing a moment ago. At the end of it was a single blade that proved its use when it punched a hole into one of the cages. It retracted back to its owner, and Chris increased his pace. Finally reaching the terminal, he slammed a finger onto the ENTER button, confirming a query on the screen. As soon as he had done so, he felt a hand push into his back, grabbing a handful of his shirt and effortlessly lifting him up and throwing him back into the ground like a doll. Chris saw a snarling visage of rage and once again knew that now there was no way to escape…

* * *

**Washington DC. 12/5/10**

Allison sighed. For perhaps the fiftieth time that day she said in a monotonous voice. "I'm sorry, but until the virus is contained, we can't let you out of the quarantine zone." That tired phrase, one that she absolutely hated uttering always had a different reaction among the many refugees that streamed out of the city. A family stood before her, a mother, a father and an eight year old boy. Tears streamed out of all their eyes.

The father snarled at her in anger. "You bitch! How can you make us stay in this hellhole? How can you let my son die here?"

She ignored this, merely repeating the message, however she tensed imperceptibly, her finger hovering over the trigger of her rifle. She doubted the man would fire on her, but the apocalypse brought out the worst in everyone. "Sir, please return to the city, we'll be sending troops and supplies in within a day. Please return now or we will be forced to open fire." As if on cue, the soldiers patrolling the wall behind her stopped and readied their firearms. When the family wandered away, she sighed again in both relief and sadness. Since the quarantine had been established by the Army Rangers there had been a steady trickle of displaced civilians and the occasional ghouls that followed them – the zombies were dispatched easily, but some of the civvies would refuse to turn back. These citizens were usually armed – how else would they have made it through the infested city? – and would fire at the guards, making one last, desperate bid for freedom. They were quickly riddled with bullets by the military soldiers. The quarantine was a circle all around the city, made of the entire US Armed Forces – Marines, Rangers, Air Force, even the SEALS. Allison was part of the Rangers. She'd joined up a year ago, but she'd never been in such a strange operation. She even preferred it when the Russians had attacked a few years ago; she'd been one of the Rangers fighting to reclaim the White House after the nuke went off. That had been her first mission and the entire squad had been killed, but at least they had been fighting a force they understood, something they were trained to battle. The walking cadavers that roamed the city were things that couldn't be understood or explained. They weren't human and every rule she'd learnt in training was null. Whenever one appeared a hail of bullets would rip it in half, despite the orders to 'shoot the head'.

She was interrupted from her musing by a call from one of her squad mates, a dark haired corporal named Dunn. "Hey Allison, hustle up, we're due for a briefing. Some real cloak and dagger types, and from what I heard the Marines saying they're not good news."

She nodded in reply, getting up and groaning. "Those Marines will bitch about anything. Since they screwed the pooch in Manhattan they've been whining like little girls." Dunn barked his laughter at her grumbling. Though all the military branches served the same goal a certain rivalry existed between them. Leaving the wire walls of the quarantine zone behind and heading through the gates, they headed back to the ops centre – a hastily erected tent the size of a small house, with guards posted around the entrance and containing the brains behind the operation. The military compound was a bustling hive of activity, soldiers moving to and fro, engineers preparing tanks and other humvees. Sergeants barked orders at the enlisted ranks and mess halls were filled with chattering troops. Finally the two reached the ops centre.

As they passed the guards, Allison noted that their military uniforms were pitch black, and that their faces were obscured by compact gas masks and blue lenses. She couldn't spot any emblems that revealed their affiliations, and their features were entirely hidden. Allison hypothesized they were probably employed by some shadowy spooks. Inside the tent, the two Rangers found the rest of their squad, as well as many other units in the middle of the briefing. They all sat assembled before a silver haired man – probably in his fifties – that wore the same uniform as the guards outside, except that he had opted to not wear the mask. At his sides were more of those black ops soldiers, with the exception of a man and a woman in casual, tan uniforms that had the BSAA insignia. Allison noted that both looked slightly uncomfortable beside the guards. As the two took their place besides their Sergeant – named Foley – and a fellow Corporal named Ramirez, the man before them was saying. "- the virus currently infecting this city has been identified as the T-Virus. Now, some of you may remember the incident at Raccoon City a few years ago. That was the same virus, it managed to spread so much and become so uncontrollable that the entire city was neutralized. Hopefully that won't be the case here, but that's up to all of you unlucky bastards. On the plus side, we are not sending you in without intel. We know how this virus works and how to take out the infected. For that reason, we have a survivor from the Raccoon City Incident here."

The woman stepped forward into the light, and Allison noted that she had long, brunette hair beneath a cap, a fit build befitting a soldier and a beautiful face. "My name is Jill Valentine and I'm going to tell you how to survive."

* * *

The streets were in complete pandemonium. The sound of bloodcurdling screams competing with an eerie moaning. Shuffling shapes staggered around, searching out any prey. Their victims were the surviving citizens of Washington, people that sprinted around in a desperate bid for an escape. It was futile, the infected in the streets far outnumbering the survivors. As soon as one survivor got into reach they were snagged by cold, clutching hands. Immediately an entire swarm of walking cadavers would descend upon the unfortunate citizen, ripping into them with dull, bloodstained teeth. The screams would go higher and higher in volume and then cut off at the crescendo.

Those people that stayed in their homes only prolonged the inevitable. The ghouls searched patiently for any living person, going through home after home in random pattern. Those that fortified were faced with a siege of undead, wherein an increasingly large number of zombies would gather around an entrance, beating against it until it would give way. They would then swarm in, looking for anybody that could be devoured.

In one of the police stations, one such siege was taking place. Hundreds of zombies were gathered around the building, whilst out of the windows above the ground floor guns boomed. Few of the shots missed their marks, or simply hit the zombies harmlessly in their chests. Inside the building, dozens of police officers either took pot shots at the assembled crowd outside or sat around, rationing food and water, or simply waiting around for the eventual military rescuers. There were even a handful of civilians that were engaged in the latter option, the exception being a man taking pictures on his camera. When queried about the suitability of the practice given the situation, he'd simply responded that he'd, 'Covered wars before'.

One of the police, a petite female medic who was busy cleaning another officer's wounds gave a relieved sigh. "Don't worry, Troy. No bites at all. You'll be fine." _'That is, aside from the dozen cuts along your arms and face, and the massive slash across your side that's leaking more blood than a hose leaks water.'_

Troy tried to be as charming as possible whilst speaking through gritted teeth. "Rebecca, you are an angel. Thanks."

The medic simply grinned. Pushing her brown hair out of her eyes she responded. "You won't be saying that when I start stitching this up, especially because we ran out of morphine. Seriously, couldn't you have opened the window before jumping through it? Glass shards slice deeply."

"Ran out of morphine? Just bloody great. I'll bet you my month's salary that John Citizen's been using it for kicks. OW!" Troy yelped as Rebecca began to stitch a long cut at his side. The next five minutes were filled with yelps and whimpers from the wounded officer.

"Great work, Troy, you're taking it like a champ." Rebecca encouraged. _'This guy handles pain worse than a five year old girl.' _

"And we're all done here." She said triumphantly and quickly bandaged the wound. "Now just don't move around too much, or you'll tear your stitches."

"Thank you, 'Becca." Troy said wearily, sweat beading his brow. Before his eyes closed a sly smile appeared on his face. "Heh, now that you've seen me with my shirt off, maybe you should return the favour."

"Keep dreaming." Rebecca muttered, wiping the perspiration from her face.

"Officer Chambers!" Rebecca looked around to see who was calling her. Spotting the self appointed leader of the surviving officers she gathered her medical supplies, left the sleeping officer on the ground and approached the speaker, a tall, dark skinned man in a suit. "Special Agent Hendrickson, is something wrong?"

"We've got a situation. Follow me." He said and briskly set off at a half run. "You five! Come on!" he yelled at a group of officers that were standing around, chatting. Rebecca followed a little reluctantly. Victor Hendrickson was an agent for the FBI, and had arrived a week ago to arrest two psychotic brothers that he'd been chasing for months. He'd failed, and had been about to leave when the outbreak occurred. After the Police Chief had been killed by the undead assailants, he had stepped in to lead the surviving members of the Washington Police Department. His first act was to personally identify Rebecca Chambers and ask her for every little bit of information on their enemies – when she asked how he knew to question her, he had confided that one of his first assignments with the FBI was to write a report on the STARS team in the Mansion Incident. He confessed to calling them insane – and after processing everything she told him about the walking corpses outside he had ordered everyone checked for possible infection. Once every infected person was dealt with, the rest had to take everything of use up to the second floor. He then had all destructible stairs demolished to be replaced with ladders, and those that couldn't be destroyed were barricaded by all manner of objects. One concrete staircase had been lubricated by oil, so that any zombie that tried to make its way up would be sent crashing down. He had posted numerous snipers at the windows, these sharpshooters were armed with hunting rifles and were ordered to take out as many ghouls as possible. Thanks to an overstocked armoury, as well as a recent raid on a nearby gun store, all the officers had enough ammunition to last months of sparing use. _'A real cold character,' _Rebecca mused. _'Smart, practical, brilliant, but impersonal and all business.' _She remembered the five people he had executed upon discovering their infection. Their faces were horrified, some had pleaded, others had cursed, two had agreed with what should happen to prevent their transformation. Chambers was shaken from her musing when they reached the windows and the situation. Snipers fired out the windows in panic, their shoulder sticking out into the night and they moved their rifles to and fro with jerky, erratic movements. The other officers that had been called by Hendrickson exclaimed in fright. "Those things can't climb! Can they?"

"What the hell's going on here?" Rebecca yelled. In that instant her question was answered immediately. One of the snipers fired with his rifle, hitting something that responded with a howl. The sniper gave a yell of triumph. "YES! I can't believe I hit it! YEAH! I – AAARRRGGGHH!" Perhaps he had spoken to soon, because at that moment a long, barbed tongue shot through the window and impaled the sniper in the shoulder. The tongue quickly withdrew, dragging the screaming officer with it.

"Officer Chambers, what are these things?" Hendrickson calmly asked, withdrawing a .45 from a hidden holster within his jacket.

"Lickers! Keep away from the windows, they can clamber all over the walls and they move _fast_. They can also shoot their tongues out far, keep your distance." Rebecca warned, chambering around in her customized Samurai Edge, issued to her fifteen years ago. "Also, try to get 'em in the head."

Hendrickson nodded in his unfazed way. "You heard the lady. Everyone get to the right side of the room. Cover the windows, as soon as those things jump in we'll fill them with lead."

The officer rushed towards the designated position, taking cover as they had been trained to. A tense minute passed. Rebecca, near the back of the formation, felt sweat trickling down her back. Another minute passed and the handgun was growing heavy in Rebecca's hands. Fifteen seconds passed and the medic's fingers began to twitch. Another five seconds passed. The moaning of the zombies outside became extremely apparent and grating.

"AAAAAHHHHHH! COME ON YOU RAT BASTARDS!"

Rebecca almost fired out of shock. One of the officers, an unhinged cop that had finally snapped under the pressure, had run down the corridor, screaming and brandishing a shotgun. As he aimed out a window still shrieking and cursing, he was instantly tackled back onto the floor by a crimson blur. Within seconds, the entire corridor was filled with clawed creatures, crawling across the walls, ceiling and floor. In an instant, Rebecca recognized that oversized and exposed brain, lashing tongue and skinless body. The shrieking of the creatures drowned out all other sound, and many of the officers were stunned by the sudden appearance of such monstrosities. Gunshots boomed next to Rebecca's head and served to not only send a Licker sprawling, but acted as an alarm clock to the dazed officers. It had been Hendrickson who had shot first, and he continued to fire upon the beasts. The volley from the police officers sent Licker's falling to the ground, their twitching corpses littering the room and their dying howls serving to rally the cops. However, from the windows more of the creatures poured, rapidly gaining ground as they all struggled to reach the officers before being brought down. It was a race; could the creatures be exterminated before they reached the police? Two of the cops began to reload, and the creatures gained an extra few metres.

"Come on! Give them all you've got!" Hendrickson yelled. The creatures were a mere five metres away and one sent its harpoon-like tongue at the nearest officer. The tongue lanced into his chest, and the Licker lunged towards its dying prey. It was blasted off his body immediately via shotgun at close range. Rebecca fired in short bursts, taking out Lickers with rapid head shots. Another Licker fired its tongue out like a chameleon, this time it took out the officer next to Rebecca. As it reeled itself in, Rebecca made a miraculous shot at the speeding target. Its exposed brain was sent out the back of its head. Another Licker made its way down the corridor. Despite the fact that it didn't have eyes, Rebecca somehow knew that it was aiming right at her. She sighted down the barrel of her gun, aimed carefully for its head, and then squeezed the trigger.

~_click~_

The handgun was empty. "Shit!" Rebecca cursed. The Licker sensed the lowering of the weapon and leapt immediately, claws outstretched and jaws gaping. Rebecca couldn't dodge anywhere, there was no room. Everyone else was shooting other Lickers. There was nothing she could do but die.

The Licker seemed to take a crystal clear clarity as it was a mere foot away from the officer. An explosion sounded beside Chambers. The Licker was blasted straight back, its head practically disintegrated. Rebecca looked to the source of the explosion, and saw Hendrickson, clutching a shotgun and still looking relaxed. She gave him a nod in appreciation and swiftly reloaded. The siege was still taking place.

* * *

It had quickly been settled. Each squad would fall under the orders of BSAA specialists, and the BSAA would fall under the orders of that shadowy unit. They would make their way into the infected city, setting up military bases and safe zones in places where the infection was eradicated. Helicopters had already been sent in to scout and take out large crowds of zombies wherever they could, this would make the eventual reclaiming of the city easier for the troops. Charlie Squad had been assigned to the command of BSAA Agent Jill Valentine, and they all reported to 1st Lieutenant Armitage who had chosen to accompany Alpha Squad. The two were completely different. Valentine was friendly, actively asking questions and conversing with the soldiers. She gave them tips on fighting the creatures spawned by the T-Virus and what might be lurking in the city. Armitage on the other hand was cold. He didn't speak unless it was to give an order, he only ever chatted with other members of his organization. Allison could detect disdain in his attitude, towards the Rangers and the BSAA Agent. He never took off his goggles and gas mask, and there were always weapons on his combat harness. He sat apart from the others, staring into the distance and preparing his equipment. Charlie Squad was glad he'd be with Redfield and his team.

"I wonder what we're getting into." Dunn sat beside her his eyes possessing a faraway look. "All our lives we've been training to fight against terrorists, rebels, you know, other human beings. This is different."

"It's the same thing, Dunn." Allison noted. "We're trained to protect our country and its people from threats. That includes these...things."

"I guess." Dunn admitted, sounding depressed. He gave a ghost of a smile. "Is it just me, or has Uncle Sam been going through a rough patch in the past few years? I mean, the Willamette incident, Russians attacking, the outbreak in Manhattan, and now this. What's next? I bet you five dollars that the next crises will happen in Empire City."

Allison laughed. Across from them, Sergeant Foley looked over from his conversation with Agent Valentine and Ramirez. "Corporal Dunn, Corporal Glasson, make yourselves useful and prep your gear. We'll be having a rough time in Washington. Ramirez, same goes for you."

With a chorus of "yes, sirs" the subordinates went to the armoury. As they went, Dunn gave an annoyed remark under his breath about how Foley had just wanted to be alone with the BSAA Agent.

* * *

"Still using that piece?"

Chris looked up from his disassembled gun. Jill stood before him, her lips curled as she stared in distaste at the weapon. "Somehow I don't want to let it go. I lost mine, seems only fair I got to take his."

"Here I was thinking you kept it for sentimental reasons."

"I'm keeping it as a reminder. So that I won't forget that you can't always trust the people in charge."

There was a tense silence between the two friends.

Jill sighed, settling down beside her old partner. "What do you think about this whole thing?" she asked, handing him a pin as he reassembled Wesker's Samurai Edge.

He waited a moment, thinking carefully before he spoke. "I don't like it. There's something...off...about the people leading this op. Did you catch their names?"

Jill shook her head. "All I know is that their clearance goes way over our heads. That Colonel Sullivan, I think we should keep an eye on him."

Chris gave a wry smile. "An eye on our CO? An eye on the government organization that the fucking UN told us to avoid antagonizing?"

"Chris," Jill tightened her clutch upon the barrel of the Samurai Edge. "I left the military a long time ago. All I care about is helping people. I know that's something we have in common. If there's something wrong with Sullivan and his people, I know I can rely on you to help me bring them down. We took down Umbrella, didn't we? We'll do whatever we have to."

With a click, the gun was complete again. Jill turned, and headed for her chopper without a backward glance.

Chris just looked down at the traitor's weapon, and remembered its lessons as Armitage yelled at him to hurry up.


	3. Chapter 3: Infiltration

**Chapter 3: Infiltration**

* * *

**Gentek Research Facility. 17/5/10**

In a shimmer of black and red, Chris saw the monster's arms transform into steel claws. One of them gripped Redfield around the neck, cutting him slightly while the other one prepared to stab into his chest. The metallic talons began their downwards descent. Chris prepared for the end…

...A roar echoed in the chamber and with a look of disbelief the monster was pulled off of Chris effortlessly. Chris groaned and pulling himself up, staggered his way back to the computer terminal. He looked back up to see the monster had been pulled back by another monster. It was a massive creature – easily more than fifteen feet tall – and built more thickly than King Kong. It was grotesque, its shape covered by deformities and its skin covered in stitches. Despite its origins as once being human, it had become something that resembled a troll. Chris mentally identified it as an El Gigante or a Ndesu, created from exposure to a plaga. In its fist it clutched the creature that had tried to end Chris's life. It began to squeeze, intent on crushing the comparatively tiny monster through sheer brute force. If it had been clutching a regular human, then its extravagantly large hands would have shattered the bones immediately. This was no ordinary human however, and so it slashed its claws across the giant's wrist. Five long cuts appeared and the titan roared in pain and anger, throwing its enemy across the room. As the battle progressed, Chris stayed at the console, typing so rapidly that it sounded like machinegun fire. In response to his commands, more and more cells around the room opened, releasing their prisoners to attack the first monster. Creatures that Chris had fought throughout his years in his campaign against bio-organic weapons, all in the same place and all attacking the one creature, Chris could almost smile at the irony; he, a dedicated BSAA Agent, using Bio-Weapons to take out the greatest Bio-Weapon ever. As he watched the creatures converge to confront the one, Chris almost felt sorry for the creature. He went back to typing on the keyboard, stacking the odds in his favour.

* * *

**Washington DC. 12/5/10**

"_This is an emergency broadcast to the BlackWatch forces in the city above! ... The Gentek Research Facility has been overrun! We require immediate assistance! T-Virus outbreak is ... ore than half the researchers here have ... een infected. We've barricaded ourselves in the mess hall, but can't make it to the exits. Test subjects are still contained, thank God, but the ... bies are rampant! Please, help us!"_

The message played filled the dark room of the operations centre. In the middle of the room was a set of glass screens that encircled the stooped figure of Colonel James Sullivan.

Sullivan stroked his chin thoughtfully. He knew all about Gentek, though it surprised him that there was one of their Research Facilities beneath Washington. He shook his head in disgust. _'To think that there was one secret that BlackWatch didn't know...'_ That there had been an entire facility hidden beneath the capital city of America rankled Sullivan to the core. That BlackWatch's 'ally' hadn't thought to share that particular bit of information disturbed him more. _'Perhaps,' _he thought, _'they'll need to be brought back in line.'_

The radio transmission had been intercepted by BlackWatch and had been flagged as important. Experience had taught Colonel Sullivan that with Gentek, an unknown Research Facility meant a Bio-Weapons Facility. He also knew that if it had been overrun by zombies, then some series of accidents would lead to the release of whatever viruses were being developed within, and that said viruses would escape and threaten humanity. Sullivan half regretted ever letting Gentek reopen research of Umbrella and all its leftovers. It seemed like the never ending series of world domination plots and diabolical villains had now been passed on for BlackWatch to face.

The colonel pondered on his next choice of action. It had been a mere year since the incident in Manhattan, wherein the BlackLight and RedLight viruses had overrun the city. If it was against those viruses that he was facing now then he would have simply nuked the entire city into a mess of molten rock and melted glass. Instead, he was facing a simple outbreak of the T-Virus. And this presented a very lucrative opportunity. Ever since the Manhattan incident, BlackWatch had found itself in a quick and sudden descent from the top of the pecking order. Though they'd managed to get the city contained without blowing it into a crater, the primary target had escaped. Zeus...he was glad the shape shifter had disappeared into the teeming masses of the world. If they could save Washington DC and find the people responsible for releasing the virus, Sullivan was certain BlackWatch would ascend back to its position of glory. Against an easy virus like the T-Virus, Sullivan was certain the whole thing would be wrapped up in a week. _'Hell, we could even rebuild our reputations by saving some civilians,' _the thought of BlackWatch being seen as heroes made Sullivan smirk in barely concealed amusement.

* * *

A roar of noise came from around the city. It was the sound of a thousand people, yelling their arrogance and taunts at their enemy. It was a modern version of a medieval army screaming a war cry.

"Beautiful." Sergeant Ramirez breathed, surveying the faraway buildings of Washington DC. The quarantine had been firmly established and so the military forces had begun their efforts to retake the city, beginning first with the labyrinth of suburbs that formed the city's outskirts. They had surrounded the massive city, in a mammoth circle encircling the city. Their plan was simple, really. The soldiers made as much racquet as possible – the yelling earlier – drawing zombies in from the suburbs. As they appeared and came in range, the soldiers would fire at them and take them down. They didn't have to worry about cover, shock and awe tactics or anything of the sort. Against such a mindless, slow, idiotic enemy this tactic would eventually empty the city of all ghouls. Meanwhile, spec-ops teams would enter the city and do their best to rescue civilians. Helicopter reports had showed sieges taking place all over the city, as zombies assembled en masse to reach people that had locked themselves away.

Ramirez stood in a line with the other soldiers, waiting for the enemy to appear. Tanks were situated at large highways and exits, in order to target large mobs. Happening to be right next to one Ramirez took the opportunity to sit on the treads. She could see distant, shambling shapes. Judging that at their speed it would take half an hour to reach the line, he simply admired the view.

Sunlight illuminated the distant city, making it a picturesque image of a beautiful metropolis. The skyscrapers glowed a luminescent orange, the skies were empty of any clouds and the sunrise was breathtaking. Unfortunately, the effect was completely ruined by the millions of wandering cadavers that roamed the streets and buildings searching for their next meal. Cars littered the roads, abandoned and forming accidental barricades, some of them even had stirring figures within the seats; people that had been bitten, driven away to escape and had eventually succumbed to the growing infection. When they awoke, they were condemned to spend the rest of their undead lives entangled in their seat belts. These were not the immediate threat to the Army Rangers, so Ramirez ignored them for the moment. The real threat was the hundreds of mobile zombies that lurched around the cars and towards the soldiers, moaning as they did so. Seeing that the enemy had started to reach the edge of the firing range, Ramirez readied himself.

"Open fire!" the call rang out. Immediately the sound of a thousand automatic rifles letting loose in a terrific salvo of flying metal drowned out all other noise. After the first few moments Sergeants, Captains and other commanding officers began yelling for their troops to ease their rate of fire. Aiming at individual targets and targeting the head of the creatures as the BSAA specialists reminded them. Zombies staggered and fell before the onslaught as all around the city they approached the line. With their single minded nature, they simply continued to approach the line, not able to care that every one that did was killed. The walking corpses further within the city heard the commotion and the moans of their brethren and headed to it, moaning as well. It became a chain of zombies drawing each other to the trap.

Ramirez had to hand it to Sullivan, this strategy was a very effective one.

* * *

By now, with most of the city's population converted into flesh hungry ghouls, and the quarantine having eliminated all hopes of escape, small pockets of survivors had barricaded themselves wherever they could. In the Washington Police Department, the siege that had begun the day before was continuing.

Rebecca Chambers, thirty year old medical officer and survivor of the Arkley Mansion Incident, loaded her shotgun wearily. The whole night had been spent countering an assault by dozens of Lickers. Five officers had been lost in that five minute battle, as the Lickers attacked from the windows on the second floor and from the bottom level. The survivors had had the upper hand, due to the confined interiors that had limited the Lickers' mobility and forced them into a meat grinder of gunfire. After the battle had finished, the exhausted members of the police force had been forced to dispose of the bodies. Throwing them to the waiting zombies in the city streets had proved to be the easiest solution, and that's what they had done. The bodies were disposed off, ravenous zombies descending upon the carrion immediately with all the desperation of true scavengers. That night their moans seemed slightly louder and more triumphant, but that was probably just imagination.

"Officer Chambers," a gravelly voice said, startling the exhausted medic. She cursed when she jerked, causing a shell to slip and fall. "Officer, perhaps you should rest somewhere. I'll have O'Malley take your post. She looked up to see that it was Hendrickson. Too tired to do anything else, she simply nodded, eyes already drooping. Getting up she stumbled to the lounge that had been converted to sleeping quarters for the survivors. Within a moment she was laying the shotgun within easy reach, taking off her combat webbings and boots, she fell upon a couch and was asleep in a second...

...in another second she was awake again.

"Hey, 'Becca."

She groaned. "Troy, if you don't shut up right now I'm gonna rip your stitches out with my bare hands."

He chuckled. "Come on, babe. I know you want a piece of the T-Bone."

"Keep talking and I'll be feeding the zombies some T-Bone."

"'Becca, it's the end of the world. Dead rising, we've been left for dead, and you don't want a bit of companionship? Don't you want to go out without any regrets."

Rebecca was silent for a moment. Troy began to grin, but his triumph faded when the beautiful Rebecca Chambers began to snore.

"Troy! Get over here! We need someone to help throw the Lickers outside! Word of warning, though: they stink."

Officer Troy suddenly felt the urge to slam his head into a hard surface.

* * *

Charlie Squad was comprised of only four people: BSAA Agent Jill Valentine, and Sergeant Foley, Corporal Dunn, and Corporal Allison of the United States Army Rangers. As they rode in relative silence over the teeming suburbs, with only the chopping of the rotor blades filling their ears, they all mentally braced themselves. It was one thing to shoot at ghouls as they lurched into the quarantine zone. It was quite another thing to go into the centre of an infected city.

Allison leaned forward and shouted over the scream of the helicopter, "Agent Valentine!"

Valentine cocked her head to the side.

"Did you really fight your way out of Racoon all by yourself?"

"I had a bit of help on the way, but mostly yes!"

"With only a pistol?"

"I picked up weapons on the way!"

"While being hunted by a super-zombie that had a rocket launcher and a mini-gun?"

"Yeah..."

"Well I just have one question."

"Shoot."

"How the hell did you do all that in a mini skirt?"

There was a pause. Then Valentine burst into laughter, snorting unceremoniously.

* * *

In another helicopter, things were considerably quieter and less humorous. Alpha Squad was comprised of BlackWatch 1st Lieutenant Armitage, BSAA Agent Chris Redfield, and United States Force Reconnaissance Marines, 'Red Dog' and 'Rebound'. They sat in silence, Armitage listening to his ear mike intently.

Rebound attempted to break the silence. "Sir...we haven't been briefed on what our mission there's anything that we should know..."

Armitage didn't even look up. "There's nothing that you need to know. Just follow my orders and try not to die.

The helicopter flew on in a tense silence.

* * *

"Lieutenant, are you ready for your briefing?" Sullivan asked, looking at one of the many glass screens displaying the city, each focusing upon a specific operation taking place. This one displayed a picture of the BlackWatch Lieutenant.

"Yes, sir," came the crisp reply from Armitage.

"Team Charlie is to assist in the rescue and aid missions. There're several key points in the city where a sizeable groups of civilians have holed up and are under siege. They're to help defend the survivors and clear landing zones for the choppers."

"Yes, sir, relaying orders now."

"Alpha Team has a much more important mission. You're to find out who released the virus. Find out which organization or country did this and we'll put them down."

"Yes, sir."

"The outbreak started in the White House. Start your search there."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any questions, Lieutenant?"

There was a brief pause. "With respect, sir, why have I been sent with these jokers? I'd feel far more confident with some more people from BlackWatch."

Sullivan chuckled. "Believe me, Lieutenant, I'd rather not have to work with army pukes, but we lost too many in Manhattan. We don't have many soldiers to spare."

"Yes, sir, understood."

"Good. Then start your mission."

The screen changed back into a map and Sullivan began to whistle. After the nightmare that was Manhattan, it was nice to face some good old mindless zombies. No Hunters tearing up tanks, no Hydras bursting from the ground, no Hive Mind to co-ordinate the enemy. This was the ideal operation for BlackWatch. A walk in the park.

* * *

Ramirez took careful aim. Through his rifle's scope he could see the faded baby blues staring back at him. With a grin, he squeezed the trigger. A single shot rang out and the blue eyes exploded outwards, the hollow point of the bullet bursting the zombie's head like a tomato can.

"Another one bites the dust." He sang to himself softly. He shot again. "Another one bites the dust." Another shot. "And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust!"

Another Ranger laughed. "The Sarge is right, this really is like a day at the practice range."

"Don't tempt fate, Steve!" the guy next to Steve exclaimed. "We got a good thing going here."

"Come on, tell me you wouldn't want a tougher challenge!" Steve cried. "I bet I could do this with my eyes closed."

Ramirez laughed with the rest of them. All the while he relished in the ease of the mission. The zombies just kept shambling into his sights, unable to shoot back. Already, the field was littered by hundreds of bodies. '_The only danger would be if we ran out of ammo'_, Ramirez thought.

The Rangers had settled into an easy routine. Firing haphazardly, they joked and ate rations as they worked. Not one of the CO's even saw a need to maintain discipline...the walking dead might as well be targets on a range.

Ramirez began to sing 'Thriller', and the other soldiers took up the song, until the entire line was singing and a few tried to perform the zombie dance. A few of the CO's barked disapprovals at the gross breach of discipline. The real zombies just kept shambling on, falling whenever they got in range of the soldier's weapons.

* * *

The Helicopter hovered above the roof of a mall. Dust and garbage swirled around beneath the whirling rotors. Four cables dropped down, followed by Charlie Team.

The four quickly crossed the rooftop to the door. Automatically, Dunn prepared to kick the door down, but Valentine held up a hand to stop him. She approached the door and pressed her ear to the metal. Holding her Samurai Edge at the ready she knocked rapidly. Immediately, the sound of moaning assaulted her ears. She waved the Rangers back to form a wide arc. She slowly turned the knob.

The door burst open and a wave of zombies poured out like water from a broken dam. Jill backpedalled rapidly, as the Rangers opened fire on the staggering corpses. The rifles shook as bullet after bullet slammed into the zombie's torsos, sending them back a few steps.

"Switch to single-shot!" Jill barked, firing steadily with her handgun.

The Rangers complied. In moments the undead horde was transformed into a small mound of putrid bodies.

Jill raised an eyebrow. "Remember, every bullet that doesn't go in their cranium is a wasted bullet. Stick to single-shot from now on. It'll force you to make every shot count. Only go to full auto if we're being overwhelmed."

They waited a moment. Jill had explained the best way to detect a zombie was from its moans. The stairs remained quiet, so Jill led the way, Rangers following closely behind her.

From the chopper, Charlie Team had seen the state of the mall. A vast army of undead gathered at the doors, slowly pushing in through the shattered windows. The siege had been successful and the defenders had only one option: escape. The hunted survivors had maintained radio contact with the army until the zombies had smashed their way in. They had been holed up in the security room. That's where Charlie Team was headed. _'Thankfully,' _thought Jill, _'the lights were still_ –

With a flicker, every light in the building abruptly shut off, plunging the Team in darkness. Jill sighed, and flicked her flashlight on.

The echo of distant moans reached the ears of Charlie Team, and Jill cursed mentally.

* * *

"Chambers! Wake up!"

Hendrickson's voice jolted Rebecca from the dead sleep she'd been enjoying. In a moment the Samurai Edge was clutched in her hands as she looked for any threats. "What's going on?" she asked, as soon as she was satisfied there was no immediate danger.

"Follow me." Hendrickson ordered, spun and raced down the corridor.

"Damn," Rebecca muttered, grabbing the shotgun and followed him.

The civilians were streaming down the opposite way, terrified beyond their wits. Once she reached the demolished staircase, she saw why. On the floor below the zombies surged in like a nightmarish wave. Groups of officers were gathered around the ladders, letting the screaming civilians up first, as they shot at the approaching zombies, trying to slow the advancing cadavers. Rebecca had her Samurai Edge out in a second and shot rapidly into the horde. The civilians continued to stream up the ladders, while the officers were still trapped below.

The gun in her hand shot bullet after bullet, 'till her fingers became numb. Below, the zombies had reached the line of defenders. Packed tightly against the wall, with no room to manoeuvre, the first officer shrieked as cold hands grasped him and dull teeth sank into his flesh. Rebecca screamed, firing desperately to save her friends.

With a burst of renewed vigour, the officers unloaded freely into the endless crowd. But they were panicked. Shots tore zombies in half, shots ripped limbs off. But only a few hit that gaping maw with its yellowed teeth. The zombies continued to close in, mingling with the crowd. Like a virus in the midst of penetrating a cell, the undead swelled into the crowd of officers, biting and tearing into flesh, letting blood splatter all over themselves like a macabre spray of paint. Now Rebecca could barely risk shooting into the swelling crowd...the cadavers and the cops were mixed in so tightly with one another. The Cell was overtaken by the virus.

Finally, the last civilian made it up the ladder, and the cops closest began to climb desperately. All the while, the officers on the wrong side of the tightly packed phalanx were being consumed by the rampaging horde. For every officer that made it up the ladder to safety, another five were consumed by the zombies. The shrieks and the moans competed and rose to a discordant crescendo.

The last officer began to climb the ladder, and Rebecca tried her best to keep the zombies off him.

_-BANG-_

The zombie that was grasping for his shirt fell back

_-BANG-_

The zombie that had started to lock its fingers around his ankle fell back

_-BANG- _

The zombie that had put its teeth right around the man's calf in preparation to bite fell back.

With a desperate kick, Officer Troy managed to climb onto the second floor.

The zombies below cried out mindlessly for their lost meal.

Troy smiled up at Rebecca, a look of pure happiness in his eyes, the spark that shone in the eyes of a man torn from the brink of death and back to the shores of life. His lips began to form the words _'Thank –_

_-BANG-_

Officer Troy's brains blasted out the side of his head, decorating the carpet in grey matter.

* * *

**Oh, yeah and I don't own [PROTOTYPE] or Resident Evil...or Supernatural, or Call of Duty, or Matthew Reilly's characters. Or Dead Rising characters...any others I've missed? Eh, I'll likely keep referencing stuff. But I own nothing and make no money from them!**

**- Love,**

**SaveItSilly**


	4. Chapter 4: Hopelessness

**I don't own [PROTOTYPE] or Resident Evil. I don't make money from this fanfiction**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Hopelessness**

* * *

**Gentek Research Facility. 17/5/10**

Jill Valentine ran faster than she'd ever run before. Legs pumping, she sprinted down the dilapidated corridor with her Samurai Edge clutched in one hand, ready. The steady clicks of her footfalls were drowned by the earthquake tremors created by her pursuer. The monster roared behind her and suddenly the image of slobbering jaws and carnivore teeth flashed into her mind. She somehow managed to go faster, adrenaline rushing through her veins and urging her on, the flight or fight response telling her that now was certainly the time to fly. Up ahead, growing closer and larger by the very second she could see the heavy steel door that meant one thing to the desperate prey: Life. The dull gleaming metal was two feet thick, and the frame was large enough for a human. The beast behind her would be far too large to –

The breath was brutally smashed out of her lungs as Jill Valentine was tackled down. Unable to break her fall, she felt her temple hit the ground with a sickening _crack_. Everything went dark for a second...

...a triumphant roar brought her back to reality and Jill spun around, Samurai Edge pointing –

A claw swept faster than the eye could follow, and knocked the gun out of her hand. Then Jill saw the blood and realised that in the process, the talons had ripped into her left hand, detaching her ring finger and little finger.

The adrenaline didn't let her panic, though, and her right hand grasped her combat knife in a reversed grip.

The monster punched a claw down to take her head off – she wriggled to the side and barely dodged it – with a quick motion she stabbed the beast's wrist once, twice, again – the creature roared, and brought its salivating jaws down to rip into her torso – only to meet the concrete as Jill grabbed the beast for purchase, and pulled herself beneath it. With another furious motion she sliced into the creatures chest, drawing the blade across again and again and finally stabbing it into the creature's heart where it got jammed. She released it. Blackish red blood began to spill on her face, so Jill closed her mouth and eyes, letting touch dictate her responses. The beast reared back, standing up to escape the cold steel, and Jill rolled backwards, quickly wiping the blood from her eyes. She opened her eyes –

-and dove to the side. The monster had leapt for her stubbornly, furiously. She grasped the handle of her handgun and turned to –

-the monster was diving for her again, shining yellow with that odd bioluminescent glow. No time to aim, no time to aim, no time to –

_-BANG- _

The creature fell directly on top of her, crushing the BSAA Agent beneath its vast body.

...it began to fade.

...Jill struggled, pushing the dead weight up to wriggle free.

...There was a growl.

Jill peeked over the monster's spiked back to see the exposed brain and lashing tongue of a Licker. Now that the bigger monster was dead, it readied itself to steal the meal.

"Well, fu-

* * *

**Somewhere in the Caribbean. 12/5/10**

Murdock sipped champagne from a glass shaped by traditional glass blowers in Spain, relishing the taste as he swirled the liquid once in his mouth. Then he consumed the rest by gulping from the bottle like it was cheap gin.

He leered at the scantily clad girls – a brunette and an Asian girl – who giggled insipidly, their eyes focused upon the riches present upon the yacht. The flat-screen occupied a large portion of the wall, and snippets of the international news went unnoticed by Murdock or the two women.

_-"A quarantine zone declared around Washington DC, with authorities claiming the release of the 'T-Virus' similar to the outbreak in Havardville Airport in 2005, and the Racoon City Incident in 1998"-_

Murdock joined the girls on the leather couch, and began to unbutton his Egyptian Silk shirt, accidently staining it as he did so. His hands fumbled drunkenly. The girl's inane giggling continued.

_-"No word on the status of the President, or of any other important political figures"-_

His lips crushed the brunette's, smearing glossy lipstick 'til it seemed he had a bleeding mouth. His hand slid beneath the Asian girl's shirt and began to squeeze roughly.

_-"Authorities have begun rescue evacuations into the city, to save any survivors in the hostile environment...we give our heartfelt thanks to the heroes going into the heart of Infected territory"-_

The brunette moaned into his mouth, and Murdock felt like the luckiest man in the worl –

A sharp crash sounded, throwing Murdock off the couch and onto the Persian rug. The boat began to gently rock to and fro.

There was a tense silence, Murdock's combat training rising in a direct struggle against the alcohol that insisted the bump was nothing, and that he should get back to his less than moral activity with the two young ladies waiting upon the couch.

The screeching of twisting metal decided the issue for him, and Murdock leapt over the couch, ignoring the shrieking harpies, and flung himself behind the bar, fingers searching for the firearm.

Aside from the screaming of the prostitutes, the only sound came from the television.

_-"No word yet on how the virus was released, or by whom, but the authorities have promised to have been tracking down the culprits with all their resources, in order to bring the criminals to justice"-_

The door was kicked in. The mass of metal went flying across the room and embedding itself in the wall. Slowly, sea water began to flow into the room. The two women gave a yelp, and cowered at the other side of the door. Murdock just tried to keep his eyes focused, clutching the shotgun in his hands.

Footsteps announced the arrival of the trespasser, steady and calm. Murdock rose quickly, and shot at the intruder without looking. The boom of the shotgun reverberated in the enclosed space, and a ringing filled Murdock's ears. Buckshot shattered the priceless artworks that the newly wealthy hit man had purchased (he had assumed from the obscene price that it was good). The intruder, a solitary man in a dark suit and red tie didn't fall. Murdock prepared to fire again, rationalising that he'd somehow missed. He did so, but the intruder just fixed him with a bemused expression.

"Sit with me," the command was softly spoken, with the barest hint of an Australian accent, "please."

Murdock stayed rooted to the spot. With a sigh, as though the drunken hit man had disappointed him profoundly, the man came into the light, to sit on one of the stools. Now that he was illuminated, Murdock could see that – despite the accent – the intruder was Asian, with greying hair and gentle eyes.

"Please leave us." The man called over his shoulder, and the two women complied. All the while sea water continued to pour in the room, slowly making it sink at a glacial rate.

"What do you want?" Murdock asked through gritted teeth, his hands clutching the shotgun as though he were throttling it.

"Martini on the Rocks, thank you."

Murdock felt an overwhelming sense of confusion, and made no move. The man again fixed him with that sorrowful gaze.

"I can see we won't get far like this. I know the whole reason I came here, but I can't do what I came here to do...not as I am. For your sake – and for this one's conscience – I'll delay as much as I can." The man began to splash the seawater playfully with his foot, smiling contently. Murdock wondered for a brief moment whether the whole thing was a hallucination brought upon be some pills he'd consumed earlier.

"You released the T-Virus in the White House kitchens."

Murdock felt his heart skip a beat.

"As per my instructions, everything – save for the raid by the BSAA – went according to plan. Congratulations, Mr. Murdock, you have been enjoying your reward, I trust?" The man grinned in genuine happiness. He noticed Murdock's befuddled expression, and continued. "This must seem very surreal to you. You were expecting a far more intimidating man, yes?"

Murdock cleared his throat. "You're my employer?"

The man nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, and haven't I been the most rewarding employer in your career? All that money for such a simple chore..."

"Why 're you here, then? Got another job for me?"

"No, no, good heavens no," now the man's face showed complete sorrow. "No, Mr. Murdock, I'm here to kill you."

The shotgun fired again, the buckshot, from close range splattered into the man's face, sending him rocking back. Blood, bits of skull, and grey matter decorated the wall and floor. Murdock took a breath.

The man, minus most of his face, sat straighter in his chair to regard Murdock with the insides of his cranium. Quick as lighting , a hand shot out and grabbed Murdock by his shoulder, fingers digging in with unnatural strength until the fingernails brushed bone. The nearly-headless-man pulled the terrified hit man over the counter, towards him. Murdock was inches away from the man's shattered face, and could see it start to regrow in a haze of red and black, bones bursting with a cracking sound and muscle oozing up. Murdock had seen his fair share of mutilated corpses, but this display – and the alcohol – made him throw up.

The vomit splattered against the regrowing man, and disgustingly was absorbed into the red-black haze. The regrowth seemed to jump a little in that moment, before retreating back to the steady pace.

Finally, when it was done, the man grinned. "Better than ever!"

Murdock could only gawp, stomach acids still burning his tongue.

"One final question, Mr. Murdock, before we conclude our business contract..." he paused. "No, there really isn't anything to ask. I'm sorry, friend, but I've delayed as long as possible."

The man was covered again in that red/black haze, and Murdock glimpsed flesh moving and clothing changing. His heart, previously and miraculously steady, began to hammer in his chest, as he finally processed what was about to happen.

He faced a pale man, lean, with his eyes obscured in the shadow of a hood. He wore a leather jacket, but what struck Murdock most of all was the look of complete hatred on his face. His lips were curled back in a sneer, his jaws clenched together hard. The fist tightened, and Murdock cried out as his collarbone snapped and his shoulder popped out of its socket. Alex Mercer, the notorious terrorist faced him. "Finally out of that affable moron," he said in harsh tones. "Now, Murdock, I want you to know. You're nothing but a loose end to me. You should know that I don't tolerate loose ends, I slice them off."

Blood sprayed into the bar, filling one of the glasses. A chuckle sounded in the room, and a hand grasped the cup and tilted it into a smirking mouth. The ship kept sinking beneath the lapping waters.

* * *

**Washington DC. 12/5/10**

Rebecca looked up at Hendrickson, her confusion quickly transforming into rage. The FBI agent held his .45 in one hand, the barrel still smoking slightly. Troy lay dead at her feet, his brains splattered all over the floor. There was a stunned silence amongst the officers, though the undead horde beneath them continued to groan for their prey.

Hendrickson finally seemed to notice the stares he was receiving. "Now before any of you go jumping to assum –"

He was quickly interrupted by Rebecca, through the medium of a very fast fist.

Hendrickson stumbled back, dazed by the petite officer's surprisingly hard knuckles. Rebecca, however, didn't give him the chance to refocus.

She stepped forward again, and drove another fist into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. She followed up with a roundhouse kick, striking him in the knee (anywhere higher would be risky, as she'd been taught). As he bent over, the infuriated cop grabbed his head in a clinch and smashed her knee into his nose, breaking it. She roared in anger while he roared in pain.

Finally, hands latched onto her arms, pulling her back from the beaten agent. She screamed at him, tears now beginning to blur her vision. He merely held onto the bleeding nose, trying to stem the leaking blood.

"Why the fuck did you shoot him?" the only coherent words that could escape Rebecca's mouth. She writhed in the hands of the other officers, struggling to get back at the agent. Her hands reached for her Samurai Edge, but she'd dropped it on the floor in her blind need to beat the murdering bastard before her.

Hendrickson, for his part, seemed perfectly nonchalant. He was breathing a little heavily, and clutching a sleeve to his nose, but he regarded Rebecca with perfect composure. She hated him for that.

"Officer Chambers, if you can take a minute to evaluate the situation, please observe Officer Troy's right calf." He said, though his blocked nose made the words a little slurred.

"FUCK YOU!"

"Please, humour me, Officer."

Seething, Rebecca turned to look at Troy's corpse. The right calf was ragged, the pants torn. Blood dripped from the wound there. Rebecca's heart fell to her stomach. It was a bite wound...she hadn't been fast enough. Her furious panting became sobs, and she fell to her feet as soon as the other officers let her go. She pounded the ground with her fists, remembering how he'd smiled at her so playfully. A sharp glance from Hendrickson sent the other officers away, dispersing all over the second floor. Some began to spit on the assembled horde of zombies.

Rebecca crawled to the dead officer's body, clutching his hand in her own. The tears splashed onto his already cooling body.

"He was your partner?" Hendrickson's voice, uncharacteristically gentle, sounded above her.

She just nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you let him have some time? Before..." She forced the words out, not wanting her weakness to show. They came out strained.

"Before we shot him? Before he shot himself?" Hendrickson was unfazed, "so that he could feel terror at the coming end? No, Rebecca, I didn't want him to leave the world in fear."

"That wasn't your decision to make!" Rebecca lost control. Some of the other cops drifted back, ready to restrain her, but Hendrickson glared until they returned to their posts. "What if other people wanted to say goodbye? What if other people wanted to say..."

"You loved him," a statement, not a question from the cold and calculating Agent Hendrickson.

She froze. She considered the Samurai Edge beside her, thinking of picking it up, her old reliable weapon, and placing it gently inside her mouth. She considered squeezing the trigger, and –

Warm arms encircled her, hugging her tightly. All the other officers stayed tactfully away from the spectacle of the cold and calculating Agent Hendrickson comforting the grieving woman.

* * *

Flashlights revealed a corridor choked full of undead. The bastards really enjoyed swarming together in tight spaces where Charlie Team really needed to go. The group took a quick moment to catch their breaths, though the horde ahead of them had already begun to make their way towards the living. Behind them, more moans as the dead tried to catch up with the soldiers. Allison could only think of the story of the tortoise and the hare. In this case, however, if the hare stopped for too long, the tortoise would eat it alive.

Fighting through the darkened mall had sure as hell not been fun. The huge numbers of undead in the enclosed spaces meant that Charlie Team had had to 'run it' as Valentine had described the tactic. The four soldiers had formed a loose line, and with Valentine in the lead, had picked the thinnest path through the dense crowds, shooting ahead to clear a trail, and then running through it before it closed back up. Jill had told them that no matter what, they couldn't stop and shoot. It would all be at a steady jog. The majority of fire would have to be to the front, and they could only shoot to the side if they were an inch from being grabbed. It could have been described as nerve racking, if one wished to use understatement with a greater degree of hyperbole than when the first caveman had described stars as fireflies in the night sky.

Allison shook herself out of her reverie to say, "I don't think we'll be able to run through this one, Agent Valentine."

The BSAA Agent just nodded distractedly, glaring at the zombies in annoyance. Naturally, they were assembled right in front of the security room.

Dunn spoke up from the rear glancing at a large fountain in the midst of a shallow pool. "Agent, we've got multiple Whiskey Deltas approaching from the rear. We should probably get moving soon."

Jill shot one of the zombies, but stayed silent.

Foley finally grinned. "Agent, I think I have an idea."

Allison had the peculiar feeling that she wouldn't enjoy the Sergeant's idea too much.

* * *

The distinctive shape of the White House stood out to Chris, and he smiled in appreciation. The repair done to the drastically damaged structure had been nothing short of miraculous. Then he looked down at the groaning cadavers on the green lawns and felt his heart plummet, all those people dead. He wondered idly whether he'd have to shoot the reanimated corpse of the president, or whether they'd happen across him in a panic room. Armitage waved them forward, and Chris exchanged concerned glances with the Marines. He'd briefed them on the tactics to use when facing the T-Virus zombies and they'd listened attentively, but he couldn't help feeling a twinge of worry for the soldiers. It was all too easy to see the slow, shambling zombies and underestimate the danger. In the enclosed spaces of the White House, and with the impatient Armitage leading them, there was every possibility that Alpha Team would find itself surrounded by those pearly eyes and gnashing teeth.

Swallowing any misgivings, Chris followed the Lieutenant onto the green lawns.

* * *

"So," Dunn began, a little awkwardly.

"Hm?" Allison urged him on.

"What do you think of Valentine?

"The occasion or the person?" Allison asked, a little amused.

"Both."

"I think the occasion is just a way to make people buy chocolates, flowers and cards from corporations on a specific day, and that the whole thing is a sham. I mean, shouldn't you display love every day when you want to, instead of annually when society dictates you to?"

Dunn looked impatient, "and the person?"

"She's hot."

"Sorry, Allison, I have dibs." Dunn grinned, shooting at a particularly tall zombie.

Allison gave him a dirty look. "You can't call dibs on a person, Dunn."

"Just did."

"No way she'd go for a guy like you, Dunn, I heard you make that lame joke when we were riding here."

"It's not lame!" He actually sounded indignant.

" '_If you're an angel that fell out of heaven, then don't worry because I'm a trained combat medic_' is without a doubt the worst pickup line in the history of warfare, Dunn."

"She thought it was funny!"

"She didn't laugh! I was there! She just looked at you like you were socially retarded, and you muttered something about how pretty her eyes were!"

Dunn fell silent. Allison put a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Dunn, when she and I are sharing a bunk, I'll be sure to give you all the juicy details."

Dunn brightened somewhat, suddenly beaming. "Aw, Allie, you really are the best."

The two Rangers laughed, taking occasional pot-shots at the assembled horde that stood ankle deep in water, reaching up for the two soldiers in vain. They both sat upon the ornate fountain, trying to prevent their legs from dangling too low. A hand snagged Dunn's boot and he cursed, shooting down.

* * *

BSAA Agent Jill Valentine and Sgt. Foley looked at the security room hopelessly. The floor was slippery with congealed blood, the display screens cracked by the wild firing of bullets. On the floor were the remains of twenty men, women and children. They must have been squashed in, packed so tightly together that breathing would have been nearly impossible. Feeding upon the bodies were an additional ten zombies. Jill could easily envision the scene; the huddled crowd, waiting with only the sound of the horde outside to keep them company, the succumbing of the first infected person who'd hidden the truth, the screams reverberating from the walls. Unable to tell who was human and who was zombie, she imaged the desperate lashing out, the hail of bullets – and all the while the rampaging zombies, biting and tearing through the trapped prey.

She raised her gun in conjunction with Foley and began to shoot, no emotion on her face. The gun shook in her hands as she finished off the reanimated dead.

* * *

Two officers prepared to throw Troy over the side, to the waiting zombies. There was a single _click _as Rebecca pulled the hammer of her Samurai Edge back, staring daggers at the cops. They looked at her in barely concealed shock.

"We have nowhere else to put him, Rebecca."

"We can find space," a terse reply.

"No, we can't," one of the officers, an older man who'd always joked with Rebecca said gently. "Trust me, Rebecca, this breaks my heart. Every single one whose died today...I've known each and every one of them. But we gotta think about the living. We don't know how long we'll be here. We have to-"

Rebecca turned and stormed out, leaving the officers silent. They threw the dead Troy over the side, watching in grim silence as the zombies set upon the meal. It wasn't a decent burial...but it was the best they could do.

* * *

**Washington DC. 13/5/10**

The rising sun's warming glows began to finally work their magic upon the cold Rangers. More than a few yawns were let out.

Ramirez was bored. Steve was endlessly complaining into his mike, ensuring everyone else could hear him.

"I just want a challenge, you know what I mean..." the voice droned on and on. The other Rangers had considered 'accidently' shooting him in the leg. Friendly fire was frowned upon, but in this case was probably understandable.

He shot again into yet another one of the zombies, and yawned, stretching in the hot morning sun.

The undead fell to the ground, and for a moment – with Steve's voice in his ear – Ramirez almost envied the properly dead bastard. Putting his crosshairs over another one of the endless stream of zombies, Ramirez prepared to –

The ground burst beneath his feet, and Ramirez was launched into the air. As he went flying, all he could hear on the radio was Steve's voice screaming: "Oh shit, oh shit, what the fuck is that thing? What the fu-AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH." The screams finally cut off and Ramirez fell back to the hard, unyielding earth.


	5. Author's Note and Delay Notice

**Author's Note: For anyone who has been following this story. Thank you. It really feels nice to see that others have been reading something that I've written. The speed at which I've gotten chapters up so far has been phenomenal for me - having begun only a few days ago I've gotten 4 chapters of about 10,000 words. However, there's likely going to be a few weeks delay, as I've got some important stuff going on. Rest assured, I have no intention of hitting a writer's block or abandoning this fic: when I start something I focus on it until it's done. **

**I wouldn't mind some opinions on the way I've done Alex (it's a bit different to how I've normally portrayed him, but should give him some more depth as a character). **

**I'll also be focusing more upon Alpha Team's mission when I start posting again, as I've barely explored them. For anyone who has read Matthew Reilly's Scarecrow series; I'll be having a lot of fun portraying the Force Reconnaissance Marines and their Armalite MH-12 Maghooks :)**

**Sorry to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger (with Ramirez being thrown into the air by an unknown force) but I promise that I have a plan to make the whole situation a little bit more complex. **

**Love, **

**SaveItSilly. **

**p.s. I apologise if I don't respond to reviews, I'm a little bit on the shy side, but I do very much appreciate anyone's opinions ( and I'm also desperately in need of acknowledgement of my works due to crippling self esteem issues :0 )**


	6. Chapter 5: Saving Souls (part 1)

**Disclaimer: The only thing I really own in this world is my dignity. And I'm about to lose that in a card game with fate. I certainly don't own [PROTOTYPE] or Resident Evil.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Saving Souls (part 1)**

* * *

**Gentek Research Facility. 17/5/10**

"-ck."

Shock set in as blood welled from the broken stumps where Jill's fingers had once been. She clutched the jagged bones and suppressed any whimpering that tried to escape her lips. She bit down into her lips until she tasted the sickly sweetness of her blood. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut and slowly reached for the gun at her side, doing her best to keep the wounded hand away from the bleeding carcass of the beast above her.

The Licker continued to bite into the creature, jaws gaping wide as it ripped into the reddish flesh. It growled with satisfaction, perched above the larger monster and spitting mouthfuls of blackened pulp onto the dead creatures head.

"Come on," Jill mouthed, arm stretched out. "Come on, come on, come on…"

Her fingertip brushed the wooden inlay of the handgun, scratching fitfully at the handle, feeling the familiar S.T.A.R.S insignia. The crushing weight of the monsters kept her pinned down, kept her infuriatingly out of reach.

Suddenly the hideous visage of the Licker came into view, eyeless face focusing upon Jill with a predatory intensity. The tongue lashed out, like a snake tasting the air, assessing the previously unnoticed morsel. Jill froze, the ancient instinct of self preservation keeping her still as a statue, like a deer in the headlights. The Licker ground its jaws, claws clenching and unclenching. It lowered its salivating maw down...

With a lurch, the oversized head of the dead monster was pulled up, its tongue lolling out pitifully. With the pressure eased off her, Jill scrambled out from the embrace of the creature, grabbing her pistol and rolled up, aiming at the Licker. The creature continued to bite into the dead carcass, every bite creating more of the spreading blackness...flesh rotting off from bone right before her eyes. Jill backed away, while the Licker kept snapping into the flesh, triumphant growls reverberating deep from its chest. The pain in her hand grew, but Jill banished the selfish feeling from her mind and checked the precious satchel at her side. A quick glance proved that the syringe of purple liquid remained unbroken and a quick prayer of thanks escaped her lips. Keeping one eye upon the growling Licker, she retreated from the concrete corridor.

* * *

**Washington DC. 12/5/10**

Sergeant Foley had seen plenty of battlefields filled with dead soldiers before. He'd seen the carnage that had claimed innocents when bloody coups had upset entire countries. He'd looked at the pale faces of the dead, coloured only by the redness of spilt blood. He'd seen it all and had long since become accustomed to not batting an eyelid.

He looked at the security room and felt the urge to heave his guts and empty his stomach. The macabre room was filled with bodies, draped over one another and forming small mounds. The door had the greatest concentration of dead. It was dented where fists had beat it, and scratched where fingernails had desperately clawed. On the pale bodies, the redness of bites and scratches, where dull teeth and chewed flesh into a pulp leapt out at him. The children were crushed, bruises still visible on their necks from where fingers had grasped and squeezed.

The smell hit his nostrils, sickeningly sweet like rotten fruit. He suppressed the urge to gag. Beside him, Jill Valentine didn't bat an eyelid. She raised her Beretta, and fired into each and every head. After a moment's hesitation, Foley joined her. The shots echoed in the room, just as a mere hour earlier the screams and ravenous moans had bounced off the concrete walls, until there seemed to be a million cries from the depths of hell, all shrieking as one in the claustrophobic room.

When the final shots rang out, Valentine strode over the bodies to the computer terminal. "Sergeant, please check on Corporals Dunn and Hannigan...this'll only take a minute," she ordered tersely, fingers dancing over the keyboard. "I'll check the rest of the mall...maybe someone managed to hole up somewhere else."

Eyes scanning the black and white videos from the countless security cameras, Foley nodded. He turned and left the room, slipping briefly on a red puddle.

Leaving the room, Foley checked the satchels of ammunition attached to his uniform. From the feel, and his memory, he calculated that on the mad dash in through the mall – the very start of the mission – he'd already used almost half. Chewing nervously, Foley lowered his rifle and drew his combat knife. If Jill found any more survivors, he wanted to be ready for another run through the gathered mobs. He didn't want to think about what might happen if they ran out of ammo in the middle of a ravenous crowd of undead cannibals.

His flashlight revealed the slouched form of a zombie that had wandered into the corridor. As its glazed grey eyes slid over him, it raised one arm and began that pained moan – the rallying call for the walking dead. He sprang forward and jammed the blackened blade past the eye and into the brain. Not pausing for a second, he drew the blade back out and pushed it into the temple...just in case. He let the body fall and walked on.

Dunn and Allison stood back to back at the top of a marble fountain, above a teeming crowd of undead, right where he'd left them. They spotted the Sergeant and began calling to the zombies, keeping any attention upon them. He gave a quick wave, and Dunn called out, "Any survivors?"

He shook his head.

"We leaving?" Dunn's wry questioning.

He shook his head.

"Can we come down yet?" Dunn's annoying whining.

He shook his head.

"Fuckin' A." Dunn's sarcastic drawl.

He nodded.

With a sharp crackle, Valentine's voice sounded over the speakers, "Attention any survivors, attention any survivors. This is BSAA Special Agent Jill Valentine. If anyone can understand this, if anyone is still alive, please, get into view of a camera and wave. Repeat: Get into view of a camera and wave. We'll be there to help you, and evacuate you from the city. If you cannot get in view of a camera, I advise you to hole up. The army will begin its advance to the city in two days to liberate you. We'll wait ten minutes for a response." With another crackle the PA system went dead.

There was a pause. Foley observed the assembled mass. They could shoot every single zombie, but they couldn't spare the bullets. It'd be better to let them paw uselessly at the air, with the Corporals as bait, at least until the ten minutes was up.

Foley's radio crackled and Jill's voice simply said. "I've found someone."

Turning, Foley went back to the security room, the jeers of the Corporals and the moans of the undead crowd fading behind him.

He found the BSAA Agent with her eyes glued to the screen. "Look," she said, pointing to a small screen that showed a scrawny man in a suit, jacket splattered with blood waving at the camera, before pointing at a women's restroom. After a few more waves he retreated back to the safety of the toilets.

"Where is he?" Foley asked, sheathing his knife and readying his rifle.

"Fourth Floor, in the north," Jill said, pointing to a map. "It's right beside the food court, you can't miss it."

Foley nodded, "I'll take Allison...we can get him back while you wait for any more survivors."

Jill sighed. "Most of the zombies are on this floor, fourth is mostly deserted. You won't have too much trouble. Remember to keep moving and avoid tight spaces and dead ends. After the ten minutes, I'll start going over the footage since the security room was breached...check for any survivors that might have holed up somewhere. There must have been more than one..."

The sergeant turned to leave.

"Foley," Jill called out, turning briefly from the flickering screen. "We have to save someone, anyone." She looked down at the dead children, their necks tinged with ugly red bruises. Foley understood. He lay one hand upon her shoulder, gave a brief squeeze, and left.

"Hannigan, you're with me. Dunn, you keep those Whiskey Delta's entertained." Foley breathed into his mike. Dunn gave a brief nod, while Corporal Hannigan drew her sidearm and shot five zombies at the outer region of the large mob. She took a deep breath, clutching her rifle in hand, and leapt.

Landing on the far side, she rolled to break the fall, back on her feet in seconds. At a light run, she joined Foley as they left Dunn atop the fountain. A small group of zombies turned and shambled after the two, but most of them continued to grope for the laughing Corporal, as he lowered a foot until it was just above their reach. He cackled at their indignant groans, the sound echoing through the corridors, so it seemed like a haunted house from a carnival.

Foley and Hannigan ran through the teeming hordes, guns crackling every now and again when the zombies couldn't be avoided. The shambling corpses turned and followed the soldiers as they descended through the darkness.

* * *

Jill glared at the monitors, eyes switching between screens as she tried to watch the entire mall at once. Everywhere, there were only shambling corpses and deserted stores. Her finger twitched on the trigger of her Samurai Edge...her index moving to trace the S.T.A.R.S insignia on the handle, that familiar pattern that had etched itself into her palm, so often had she relied upon the weapon. She remembered firing it at the ghouls in the Arklay Mansion, how terrified she'd been as they'd been trapped in the nightmarish building. She remembered firing it again and again into the enraged face of the Nemesis Tyrant as it hunted her through the streets and alleys of Racoon City. It had proven itself her most faithful and oldest friend in her war against bio-terror. She clutched it again in her fist, determining that not one more soul would die in the mall. Not on her watch.

As the alarm sounded for the tenth minute, she took one last scan of the video feed.

With a sigh, she began to search through the archived records.

* * *

Foley approached the food court with silent steps. Just as the BSAA Agent had said, the greatest number of walking dead had been in the fifth floor, where the survivors had fortified the security room. The large hall had only a few zombies in it, and the rows upon rows of tables looked oddly eerie when deserted. The strangeness of the empty place; normally filled with chatter and movement brought a feeling of dread to the pit of Foley's stomach. He swallowed, checking his rifle. Beside him, Hannigan clucked her tongue. "Whiskey Delta's from behind us. You can hear them."

He just shrugged. "We'll be long gone before they arrive. We'll go up a different way."

The two approached the bathroom, Hannigan scanning behind them for any dangers.

Three sharp knocks rang out, and the door creaked open.

* * *

Jill watched the video feed as the survivors locked the doors. They huddled in the security room as outside the zombies thudded and scratched the metal of the door. There was no audio, but Jill could almost hear the screams as the first person fell to the floor. She fast forwarded, sickened, as they rose up again. She waited for the door to open, waited for the moment when some people got out. Meanwhile, she watched the horror as one zombie rampaged through the tight pack of people, biting one after another, while others rose and joined it. She watched the mothers as their embraces became throttles, their tear streaked faces as their cried for mercy while clutching their dead children to their chests. She watched as the zombies devoured them.

The door never opened.

She frowned. Then she replayed the footage; nothing except the massacre. She swore and rose from the terminal.

Jill stood in the centre of the room, looking all around. 'No windows, door's out of the question...how would I...' then she saw it.

She rushed back to the console and watched the video again, keeping a close eye on the maintenance shaft that lead to the air vents.

She smiled as she saw three people clambering in during the confusion, two men and a woman; three souls that she could save. One of them was the man from the video, wearing a tank top and khakis, while the other man was heavyset and wore a dark suit. The girl was young, just a teenager, lanky and tall. All might still be alive.

* * *

Allison observed the survivor who'd introduced himself as 'Sid'. She turned occasionally to keep an eye on the door. They'd entered the dank, dark bathroom to see the survivor grinning at them, saying prayers of thanks for their arrival. He was a slight man, looking all the slighter thanks to his clothing, a dark suit that was too large for him. The front was splattered with blood, red specks against the dark material. Something sickly sweet assaulted her nostrils.

The man who'd taken refuge in the bathroom giggled nervously. "Thank god you're here. I've been terrified in here, all alone. Didn't think they'd send in anyone to rescue me, nope, nope, nope, I didn't."

Foley tried to keep the man calm. He was likely in shock, the blabbering gave that away. He let the rifle fall back on its sling. "Listen, sir, we're here to help you. You need to come with us."

Sid nodded vigorously. "Of course, of course, but first I just gotta get my affairs in order, yes, prepare for the journey and everything. Can I have a gun? I've had to use a knife and things have been a bit hard. Yes, a gun will make things easier, much easier."

Allison pressed her ear against the door. The moans were growing louder. "Sir!" she said in warning.

Foley spoke calmly and deliberately. "Sir, I'm afraid we have to go now. We'll protect you, so don't worry about the gun. Did anyone else make it with you? Any other survivors?"

Sid shook his head. "No one."

* * *

Jill finally found the three. They'd dropped down from the air vent in a deserted part of the fifth floor, three survivors. They'd dashed off aimlessly, panicked. From camera to camera, she tracked their progress.

The radio crackled next to her. Foleys voice called out, "Agent Valentine, there's only one survivor."

'Damn it,' Jill thought. 'Maybe they were split up...' She didn't want to think of the more likely possibility: that they'd run into some living cadavers and been ripped to shreds.

She continued to watch as the three ran on.

* * *

"Sir, if we don't go soon, we'll be trapped in here..." Allison intoned forcefully.

Foley gritted his teeth. "Sir, please, we have to go now"

* * *

The three ran into a hardware shop, grabbing a variety of impromptu melee weapons. The teenager picked up a hammer and gave it a few swings, nervously looking over her shoulder. The suited man picked up a shovel, while the man from the video grabbed a kitchen knife.

The trio looked at someplace off the camera's view, and ran off again. A few seconds later a group of shambling corpses came into view, following the survivors.

* * *

Foley looked back in exasperation. "Corporal Hannigan, secure our exit. I'll be out in a bit."

Allison nodded, and left the room, waiting to hear the sharp crack of Foley's rifle snapping out to hit the flustered survivor.

* * *

The trio reached the bathroom, where they stopped. The man in the dark suit clutched a dripping shovel, and was motioning to the bathroom, while the man from the video motioned onward. They were yelling, while the teenager waited nervously to the side, holding onto the hammer in a shaking hand. Jill watched the monitor in confusion. 'If they split up why would he go in the bathroom while they went the other...'

It finally clicked in her mind. With a quick snatch she picked up the mike.

* * *

The crackle of the radio broke the silence in the bathroom. Nobody answered it.

* * *

Allison looked down at her radio as it crackled with Valentine's voice, "Allison! The survivor, he's a killer! Where -"

The Ranger turned and burst into the room without a thought, and the sharp retort of the sergeant's SCAR-H sounded. Allison fell back into the door, feeling like a locomotive had hit her square in the chest. She gasped as blackness rose over her sight...

* * *

"Allison? Allison! Respond!" Jill screamed into the mike. She picked up her Samurai Edge, feeling the familiar indent of the S.T.A.R.S insignia against her palm. She sprinted out of the room.

* * *

Sid giggled gleefully, stabbing the knife down into Foley's stomach. On the floor beside him was Foley's rifle, dropped carelessly onto the tiled ground.

The sergeant had long since fallen silent, but Sid continued to mutter under his breath. "No, no, no, can't have you arresting me, can I, officer?"

A cough made him twitch up, eyes fidgeting restlessly. He hooted at Allison, "Another pretty lady! Pretty lady, slice and dice, with her chicken legs, licking chegs!" He scrambled over to the desperately wheezing Ranger, knife brandished in a white knuckled fist. He quickly took her weapons. "Welcome to my castle, lady cop!" He leered, motioning to the dripping bathroom and the stalls. "Feel free to stay in any room you want!" Sid pressed the knife against her neck. "Can't kill you yet, gotta save you, gotta save you like I saved her...yes, yes, yes, but I'm all outta rope. Hmmm, what I'm gonna do?"

Allison punched him straight in the jaw, sending him reeling back. At the same time her chest exploded in pain and she fell back against the door. Sid cackled on the floor, licking the water and blood and piss off the ceramics.

"Chicken legs got some fight, some spunk, yep she does." He went still. "I did what I had to do! You can't arrest me! Damn, damn, damn, damn..." Sid got back up, smiling broadly. "You like my suit? I like my suit. It's nice. Egyptian silk!"

Allison pulled herself up. Then she heard it. She slowly opened the door.

Sid had turned his back on her, knife whipping around as he rambled, spittle flying from his mouth. "Don't you see! I need food to survive! The end of the worlds here and what am I gonna do?" he wailed. He crouched down and pinched Foley's shoulder. After a moment, he began to saw the knife across the Sergeant's flesh. A groan sounded, and Allison's eyes widened. He was still alive.

She felt the push on the door, and so she crept forward. Sid popped the piece of meat into his mouth, chewing noisily. The madman seemed to have already forgotten about her.

Speech slurred through the chewing mouth, Sid mumbled, "Ishn't like I didsh anyshthing wrong..." The sound of splashing water rang loud in the small room, and he spun around, knife dazzlingly bright as it flashed through the air in a vicious slice. But Allison was a US Army Ranger, trained in SOCP. One hand lashed out, stopping the arc with the back of her hand, as soon as she felt the tap of flesh on flesh, her other hand grabbed his wrist, twisting it across to quickly break it – A fist smashed into her jaw, nearly dislocating it. Darkness dominated her vision for a moment. The bullets had hit her in her armoured chest, knocking the wind out of her and slowing her down. The madman swung wildly and she barely ducked it, responding with a weak palm strike to his face, just trying to make room for a – he punched again, and she caught the arm, pulling him off balance. She threw him out of the open door.

He screamed as the zombified mob caught him in their cold hands, tearing into his torso with dull teeth. She watched, panting, as the insane murderer was torn limb from limb, his guts spilling onto the floor. For a few terrible moments he screamed out, "Help me! Help me! HELP ME!"

She closed the door on him.

* * *

Jill finally reached the restroom. A few zombies stood aimlessly munching on bits of bone. In the area just before the door, a bloody mess stained the floor. Jill fired rapidly, clearing the area. She carefully approached the restroom, Beretta at the ready...

She burst in, trigger finger ready to squeeze as soon as –

Three figures sat upon the floor, one crying woman, the Corporal, and the Sergeant. Allison looked back at her dully, applying pressure to Foley's stomach. "He'll need to be evacuated."

Jill hesitated for a second, and then nodded. She looked at the crying girl, recognizing her as the tall teenager from the video. She was sobbing incoherently. "He just went crazy...we...all fine...'til he...the knife...oh god...oh god..."

Jill crouched beside her. "He's gone, now. Listen, we'll get you out of here. We have to go now, though, and I know you've been through a lot, but I need to be strong. Help Allison carry the Sergeant. You'll be out of here soon, I promise. What's your name?"

The girl breathed in and out, trying to steady herself. "Alice...my name is Alice."

Jill smiled reassuringly, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Alice, I'm Jill. I promise you: Everything will be fine."

* * *

The helicopter took off, leaving the hellish mall behind. Alice sat with her head in her hands, Foley breathed through a respirator, while Dunn, Valentine, and Hannigan readied their gear for the next mission. They reloaded their weapons and checked their gear in silence, occasionally casting a concerned look at the unconscious Sergeant.

"We're headed to the Police Station." Jill said, eyes riveted on her Samurai Edge. "Radio contact is still strong, there are definitely survivors there. We can save some lives."

There was a terse silence.

"We did save a life." Dunn said. He looked at Alice with a meaningful glance. Charlie Team fell into another silence, mentally exhausted after the first mission.

In the distance, the White House exploded, chunks of the iconic rooftop thrown down onto the green lawns. They looked at it with dull, tired expressions.

"Wonder what Alpha's been up to..." Allison mused aloud.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter was a bit different, and I think I might do the majority of chapters in this style from now on...with the entire part focusing upon one particular 'adventure', giving me the ability to go more in depth and focused. That or I'll make each chapter 9,000 words.**

**The whole thing was less about plot advancing, but I kinda wanted to write up a bit of a break from plot progression.**

**Anyway, to anyone who is masochistic enough to subject their eyes to my writing, I thank you. Though I wouldn't expect another chapter for a while. This was a bit of a break from the 'grander scheme'. Please let me know what you think through reviews.**

**Love,**

**SaveItSilly.**


	7. Chapter 6: Saving Souls (part 2)

**I don't own [PROTOTYPE] or Resident Evil...and if I did, I'd hold them both for ransom!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Saving Souls (part 2)**

* * *

**Washington DC. 13/5/10**

Across from the Police Station, within a stone's throw of the building was a parking lot. That parking lot currently housed a grand total of one inhabitant, who'd effectively barricaded the entire building by parking cars at all the doors from the stairs, and all along the winding ramp that spiralled up through the concrete building. He had been resourceful, breaking into cars and switching them to neutral, then pushed them wherever he'd needed them. Alone, it had been tough work, but he'd proven himself to be determined, as well as smart. He slept in the deserted cars to escape the elements.

He was also severely dehydrated.

The man held up a notebook for Rebecca to read through the scope of a sniper rifle. She grinned at the message.

_I don't normally ask this from a stranger, but can I have your phone number? My names John_

* * *

It was 0105 hours. Colonel Sullivan stroked his chin with one hand, while the other one rested upon the holstered Beretta on his hip. Before him stood the venerable Doctor Halsey, an elderly woman who retained a youthful energy in her eyes and her voice. Unlike her predecessor, she had backbone, and wasn't afraid to trade insults with the BlackWatch higher ups that supervised her progress. She was a brilliant scientist, and an effective administrator. Under her guidance, Gentek had made considerable progress in the fielding of useful augmentations, once again unlike her predecessor, who seemed to unleash nothing but problems onto the world. As an asset she was extremely valuable. That was the only reason he tolerated her insubordinate remarks, though he made sure to send everyone else out of the room during their discussions. It wouldn't do to let the lower ranks see him taking lip from a civilian. Still, his hand lingered on the handle of his Beretta, itching to silence the her.

"Why weren't we informed about the Research Facility beneath the god damn capitol city?" Sullivan growled. The woman always set him in a bad mood.

"I hardly thought it mattered, Colonel. Its primary usage is storage, rather than research. Unless you'd like to know the contents and workings of every supply closet we use?" There was her trademark dryness.

"I wouldn't compare BOW's to pens and papers, Doctor."

"The Facility already existed before our time. We've been storing things there since the 60's. Besides, if we'd told you about it, you'd have ordered us to destroy it."

"So? Build another one."

"Build another one with what funds, Colonel? Since you brutes lost face after Manhattan we haven't been able to spare a nickel. I reiterate: It is just a Storage Facility. You should see what we have cooking up in Utah."

Even he had to suppress a shudder. "I have."

She grinned. "Look, even if the T-Virus has killed every single one of the researchers – a meagre amount of barely competent buffoons, I assure you, the majority of people are just there to keep the place running and the specimens fed – there's nothing to worry about. Even without the skeleton crew running the place, the generators can keep everything going for well over a month. Any accidental breaches will result in our quarantine countermeasures kicking in. I'd prefer it doesn't come to that, it'd be a waste of resources, but my point remains. Everything will be fine. You have more than enough time to clear the city and get us back down there."

"What is it you store, exactly?"

She hesitated. "Everything."

Sullivan nodded. "Tell me, your protégée outside, he's a good researcher?"

She beamed in pride, an uncommon show of emotion. "The best, he's been a real blessing, and he's learning fast. He'll get to probably replace me when I go."

"Call him in."

Now Halsey faltered. She locked eyes with the Colonel for a tense minute, but he was resolute. She sighed. "Sean!" she called.

Into the tent stepped a young, bespectacled man. He had a mop of dark hair on his head, and a cheery smile.

A shot rang out.

The brilliant young man fell on his face, blood staining the meticulously clean white coat.

Sullivan grinned, the smoking Beretta clutched loosely in his hand. He turned to the annoyed doctor. "I expect full disclosure from now on, or else you're going to need more protégées."

The Doctor just pursed her lips and bit back a retort. She didn't need any more dead researchers.

* * *

Officer Randall Audrey Grey had been a man that hated his middle name for most of his long life. Anytime anyone had called him by the effeminate name, his face would turn a beetroot red, his piggish eyes would narrow, his moustache would begin to twitch and spittle would fly from his mouth as he roared at the perpetrator of that most heinous of crimes. Naturally, his fellow officers would call him by that name often, and watch him yell helplessly. A great variety of office pranks had played out over the years, some of Rebecca's favourites included the time they had bribed the radio operators to refer to him as 'Officer Audrey' for a week and the time they had pasted 'Audrey' over his desk's sign. They'd told every rookie to call him that hated name, and giggled as he screamed at the confused newbies.

In the midst of the madness, he'd kept everyone in good spirits, he'd told jokes, bandaged wounds, and helped hold the fort. He'd placated the civilians when they'd become rowdy, he'd helped in the efforts to secure the building by nailing boards to the windows and moving desks against doors. Fifteen minutes after midnight, he'd excused himself from the watch, said goodnight to the officers, gone to the rooftop and had blown his brains out.

Even in death, he'd been considerate, leaving all his gear and weapons piled neatly at the door, while he'd positioned himself right beside the edge of the roof. The other officers, hearing the gunshot, had rushed to the rooftop. They'd stared in shocked silence at the morbid image of the officer, laying spreadeagled beneath the stars, with the sound of the dead being his final conversational companion. Wordlessly, the other officers had taken his gun, a large Magnum, and rolled him off the rooftop. The splatter of the body hitting the pavement would have to serve as a poor substitute for dirt pattering upon a coffin, the hungry moans of the dead would replace the wails of mourners, and the chomping teeth would act as the burial. All in all, it was a rather inadequate funeral for such a friendly, vital, good natured man.

* * *

It was 3 o'clock in the morning, and Rebecca Chambers couldn't sleep. Most of the civilians were passed out, mentally and physically exhausted from the taxing business of survival. The majority of officers took a much needed chance to recuperate from the strains of guarding the safe haven, though their weapons were kept within easy reach. A few officers maintained the watch upon the demolished and barricaded staircases, on the off chance that the zombies learnt to climb. Others kept their eyes upon the barricaded windows, in case the agile Lickers returned to wreak more havoc upon the fatigued survivors. Through it all, however, was the moaning. Most of the sleeping forms were trapped in nightmares, all of the watchful cops were kept jumpy, and Rebecca was kept from sleep entirely, all because of that constant, never ending, moaning. The patrolling officers had told her to get some rest, not letting her join them in their graveyard shift. She had, after all, been keeping watch all day.

So she stalked the corridors, one hand resting lightly upon the Samurai Edge holstered at her hip. Her fingers lightly drummed on the S.T.A.R.S insignia. The familiar feel of the weapon brought back memories for the officer. The first time she'd ever fired it the targets had been the undead passengers of a derelict train. The constant drumming of the rain on the train's roof, the barking retort of the weapon as she shot again and again with no visible reaction from the moaning ghouls...she'd been terrified then, so young, so inexperienced. After that whole nightmarish incident, she'd left Raccoon, and put the Samurai Edge in the bottom of a drawer, not wanting to see the testament to the insane experience, but unable to simply throw it away. She'd had nightmares, but had buried the memories, locked away like the gun. She'd kept tabs on the other members of S.T.A.R.S, learnt of the heroics of Chris and Jill, as they faced their experiences boldly, forming the BSAA...she'd felt pangs of guilt for hiding from her own. She'd settled into a life of tedium, handing out tickets to incorrectly parked cars and pulling over drunk drivers, all while Chris and Jill had saved the world.

Her fingers curled around the moulded handle of the familiar gun. Now the ghouls had arisen again. She'd wordlessly reached into the drawer when she'd found out about the outbreak, retrieving the Beretta. She'd meticulously cleaned and oiled the weapon, readying it, and herself. She'd gone to the police station to help, to save lives. She'd felt at peace with herself then...now she couldn't even close her eyes to sleep.

Every single one of her enemies was a testament to her failure. Every single flesh eating ghoul had once been a person, had once been a living, feeling human being. Reduced to slobbering animals, less than animals really, they were walking viruses. A virus's one goal was to spread...neither living nor dead, they had no ability to care for anything else. Even a man eating tiger could care for its cubs. A predator ensured that it didn't kill all its prey for fear of the future's prospects. The zombies were walking plagues, once the most noble of creatures, they were now the vilest of abominations.

Rebecca rounded the familiar corridors in a trance, dark circles beneath her eyes, feet dragging on the carpeted floor. The moonlight provided the only source of illumination, and it was a poor one, dim through the smoke clouds of a thousand fires. Earlier the previous afternoon, she'd even observed the White House explode in a brilliant blast of fire and rubble. She wondered whether the most important people in the country had been caught in the fire, whether they'd died as zombies or people. Either way, they'd died in the exact same way all those others had died in Washington DC, death having equalized them all. No matter how rich they'd been, how much influence they'd had on the entire country, they'd still died in the same way as the poorest homeless man on the street. Their heart stopped beating, their stomachs stopped churning and their minds stopped thinking. Just like Audrey, after he pulled that trigger on the rooftop, looking at the faint light of the stars through the smog with the sound of the dead in his ears. What had he thought? Did he think of the hundreds of gaping maws below him, animated with the need to spread their curse? Did he think of the survivors below him, obsessed with the need to remain alive? They'd seen atrocities, the first day there had been more beatings, and stabbings and gunshot wounds than there had been infected bites. They'd been looting and robbing, and there had been murders as some people saw the collapse of society...and revelled in it. The Raccoon City Outbreak had ended with the destruction of the city. Maybe they decided to lose all the morals that had kept their inner barbarians locked within the cages of their superegos, deciding to leave their lives in a blaze of mindless passion.

Did he see all that...and decided he'd escape it?

She rounded a corner into a waiting room and saw Hendrickson, sitting alone and staring at his hands like they held all the answers to the workings of fate. He looked up at her. "Care to join me, Officer Chambers?" He nodded at a seat across from him. Between the boards of wood beside him, she could see the horde of undead through the window. Their moans travelled right through the glass and wood.

She sat beside the FBI Agent, joining the fellow insomniac.

* * *

"I want progress reports on the rescue ops," Sullivan barked.

One of the analysts spoke up. "Sir, the Spec Ops teams have been extremely successful. Team Zulu – the Seals – have rescued the survivors from Mercy Hospital, Team Delta – the Deltas, naturally – have rescued over three dozen people from the stadium. Team Foxtrot – the 82nd Airborne Division – saved the survivors from an apartment block. Team Charlie – the Army Rangers – ran into some trouble in the Westfield Mall, but still made it out with a survivor. Team-"

Sullivan interjected, "What about Alpha?"

The analyst licked his lips, "They've confirmed that the virus was released by the hit man known as Murdock, though his real name is Rufus Allan. We're tracking his whereabouts now, and hacking into every email and text message he's sent or received in the last five years. Nothing so far, though it's clear he was the one who released the Reapers on the Australian Parliament."

Sullivan snorted. _'Who cares about a roomful of dismembered politicians? Especially when they're Australian politicians...'_

"Any luck in tracking Isabella Talbot?"

"She disappeared into the city after the BSAA raid. No sign of her yet, but we're running facial recognition on all the cameras in the city. She'll turn up sooner or later, if she's still alive."

Sullivan scoffed. "Where's Alpha headed now?"

"They're tracking leads on Talbot,"

Sullivan frowned. "She isn't the primary target at the moment...direct them to Gentek's 'Storage' Facility...I want to know exactly what else Halsey is hiding."

"And Talbot?"

"If I know her method, she won't have made a deal without learning everything she could about her client. Have Team Bravo capture her, once you find her."

The analyst nodded, and his eyes went back to the terminal.

* * *

They waited in silence for a minute, both gazing out the window at the undead mob wailing outside.

"You know what my job is, Officer Chambers?" Hendrickson suddenly asked.

Rebecca hesitated, a little surprised at the strange question. "No."

"My job is," Hendrickson gritted his teeth, "boring. It's frustrating. You work three years for one break, and then maybe you can save a few people...maybe if you're lucky. That's the payoff that I signed up for, that I trained for. It's what I get up in the morning to do. I live for the moment when someone looks at me and says, '_thank you_'. I've been busting my ass for fifteen years to nail a handful of guys. Now, this is happening. Now an entire city is going to hell, and maybe I can save these people. Maybe we can save these people. Maybe I'll be able to hear those words for the first time. We just have to last a bit longer, and then we can have made a difference. We can have saved lives."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think we'll have made a difference?"

Hendrickson looked at her in surprise. "Of course I do."

"Look at them all," Rebecca motioned horde outside, "every last one. We're both officers of the law, both of us signed on to protect these people. And we failed. We failed to save hundreds...why bother saving a handful? What's the point?"

Hendrickson went quiet.

"See," Rebecca snorted, "you don't even have an answer. The truth is, innocents are always going to die, no matter what people like you or I do to stop it. Did you know that two years ago, an insane, murderous psychopath almost saturated the entire world in a virus that makes the worst of monsters? Did you know that he was seconds away from succeeding? Did you remember how one year ago, Manhattan was infected with monsters that almost broke quarantine and spread to the mainland? How soon before a threat gets out of hand and destroys everything?

She looked up at the bleak sky. "You read my file, Hendrickson. You saw what I got involved in when I was only eighteen: my 'oh-so successful' first case. Did you know, Chris Redfield offered me a place on the BSAA when it was formed? They were doing great things, they were saving the world. I chose to be a cop in Washington...and regretted it ever since. Two days ago, I felt like I could make a difference again. This time I wouldn't just be escaping, I'd be saving people, saving lives. Instead, I just see the walking dead, and I realise that they're my legacy. Maybe if I'd joined Chris, maybe I could have prevented the people that did this. I'm stuck with a few dozen people to save, when I might have been able to save tens of thousands. So tell me, do you still think it makes a difference? Randall Audrey Grey definitely didn't think so, so why should I?"

Hendrickson got up, and turned away from the window. "Come with me."

Wearily, Rebecca followed him, too tired to argue. They trudged down the corridor, until they reached one of the offices. The gentle sound of snoring reached Rebecca's ears. A girl – only six years old – slept in the arms of an officer, a middle aged woman named Annette who had taken the refugee under her wing. The older officer rarely left the child's side, and despite the fact that the child had never spoken, she never left the shadow of the maternal cop.

Hendrickson didn't say anything, and neither did Rebecca, for fear of waking the two. They just stood there for a moment, watching the two sleeping, peaceful in spite of all the horror.

They went on their way again, walking the corridors. Hendrickson spoke softly, "I've done some very cold things in the past few days. I've been ruthless, but I've done that so that I can see the little smiles on the living, as they feel a spark of hope."

* * *

Isabella Talbot approached the warehouse wearily, crouching. She raised a silenced handgun and fired once. The zombie fell to the ground with a slight thud, unnoticed by its compatriots and she gingerly approached it. The walking dead were spread out everywhere, wandering the streets of Washington DC aimlessly. She made as little noise as possible, unwilling to waste more ammo than was absolutely necessary as she approached the safe house. Looking around to check if any undead had noticed her, the thief and saleswoman opened the door and slipped in. After a quick inspection of the bustling warehouse, she smirked and let her hair down. Holstering the gun and sheathing her knife, the former BSAA Agent observed her surroundings. Unable to escape the city, she'd done the next best thing, and created a fortress; the warehouse had once held neatly stacked storage containers, giant metal boxes that could be sealed shut. To the side was a crane. After the initial outbreak, the resourceful woman had redesigned the warehouse. She'd moved the many containers to form a labyrinth walls. She'd cleared out a few of the containers, storing food, water, and supplies in a select few, and transformed another one into her own room, complete with a mattress and pillows. Between the makeshift battlements, a sea of the undead swarmed; a carnivorous moat to dissuade any survivors from storming her private fortress.

Isabella dropped down onto the first container, her heels clicking as they tapped across the steel surface of the containers. She ignored the groans of the dead, knowing that they would settle down in a few hours. She opened a hatch, and clambered into her room, sealing the hatch above her. She prepared for sleep.

* * *

In the BlackWatch command centre just outside the quarantined walls of the city, a computer beeped. A data analyst looked up sharply at the sound. He smirked. "Sir," he called, "we found her."

Sullivan smiled. "Then, what are you waiting for, Private? Send Bravo in to evacuate the civilian."

* * *

The morning sun broke out over the city. Rebecca watched the dawn, and cupped her hands around her mouth. She yelled out, and John looked up blearily. He saw the figure hefting something in her hand. Then she threw it. It sailed through the air, and landed on the floor below him.

Grasping the crowbar that served as his weapon, John ran down the ramp, clambering over the cars he's parked. He searched for ten minutes, and then found a note.

_It's 0412130975...My name's Rebecca. Sorry I had to use this paperweight to get this message to you, I hope it didn't break any of the car windows._

John smiled, splitting his cracking lips. The paper was attached to a clear bottle of water.

* * *

The morning sun broke out over the city. A set of icy blue eyes observed the fires still raging, consuming the buildings. The eyes narrowed, seeing with inhuman accuracy, the hordes of undead marching the streets of the broken city. Teeth bore in a snarling visage of rage and fingers curling into a hard fist, the BlackLight virus prepared to tear every building apart, devour every single piece of vermin that stood in its way, and finally find out who had dared interfere with its plans.

* * *

**Author's Note: I wasn't originally going to include this - the Rebecca story segment. It was supposed to intersect with the Charlie Team segment, but I thought it wasn't too shabby, it ties off the ideas of the last chapter nicely (I hope), whilst also leading into the next few segments planned. **

**Hope you enjoyed that chapter,**

**SaveItSilly**


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